and empires fall in just one day
by EFAW
Summary: Travis and his crew went after the convoy expecting to find their teammate. What they found instead could change everything. Dystopian future AU, Supersoldier!Wes, Freedom fighter!Travis. Oneshot.


**Summary: **Travis and his crew went after the convoy expecting to find their teammate. What they found instead could change everything. Dystopian future AU, Supersoldier!Wes, Freedom fighter!Travis. Oneshot.

**Warnings: **Dystopian future AU. Supersoldier!Wes. Freedom fighter!Travis. Science is hand-waved. It all takes place in a day. I can't write action scenes.

**Disclaimer: **I neither own nor am affiliated with Common Law in any way.

**Prompt by **mizufallsfromkumo** on tumblr****.**

**Note: In this fic Travis and Wes are in their early- to mid-twenties.**

**OOOO**

**and empires fall in just one day**

"_Off in the distance, there is resistance_

_Bubbling up and festering"_

—_Imagine Dragons, "Ready Aim Fire"_

**XXXX**

No one mentioned that being a freedom fighter would involve so much _waiting_.

Travis crouched low in the brush, binoculars to his face. The road was empty, just like it had been for the past thirty minutes. Just like it had been an hour ago. Just like it had been _all freaking morning_. And if there was one thing Travis hated, it was waiting.

Sighing, Travis leaned back on his heels, wishing he'd brought a pack of cards or something. He could at least play solitaire while he waited. He couldn't play it on his phone, the glow of the screen would give away his position, but physical cards couldn't be spotted.

He raised his hand to the side of his, touching the transmit button on the comm in his ear. "Firewall, are we sure the intel was right?" he questioned, peering through the binoculars again. "There's nothing here."

"_I'm sure," _Kendall said, sounding like she was right next to him even though Travis knew she was a few hundred yards away in the van. _"But they're an illegal government lab, T-Bone. The convoy is leaving today. They didn't put a departure time down just in case some random terrorist group decided to ambush it."_

"Freedom fighters," Travis muttered, scowling at the empty asphalt. "We're freedom fighters, not terrorists."

"_Tell that to the media,"_ Kate grumbled, and Travis knew how she felt.

Travis believed in freedom, and justice, and equal rights for everybody. That was why he'd joined the LAPD in the first place, to fight the yoke of an oppressive totalitarian government. And in theory, they were doing good, fighting for the very ideals they believed in.

Unfortunately, they were going up against one of the most corrupt, absolute governments in the world. It didn't take long for the media to brand them domestic terrorists, and not even Kendall's cable hacks could stop the tide of public opinion.

Basically, it was one step forward, five steps back, every day. That didn't mean Travis would stop fighting; he'd never stop until their government was brought down and a new system, a _better_ system, was in place.

It just meant that it sucked, really.

Across the road, there was a hint of movement. Two pointed ears poked through the bush, and Travis couldn't help but grin when Hudson's face appeared. It looked like Hudson was just as bored waiting as Travis was.

"Wrangler, your hound's gonna blow our position," he joked.

Randi's face popped out of the bushes, glaring in his direction but not _at_ him because unlike some people, he knew not to blow his cover. _"What's going to blow our cover is me shooting you in the ass," _she grumbled, pushing Hudson's head down and quickly following suit.

Travis couldn't help chuckling, understanding her frustration. They'd been here over four hours, and there was no sign of the transport convoy they were supposed to ambush. Travis wasn't the only one wondering if this had been a fool's errand.

"_Head's up. I've got three army trucks incoming, ETA two minutes," _Amy intoned, and Travis felt a tingle of adrenaline race down his spine. Speak of the devil and all that. He checked his gun and pulled his mask over his head, leaning forward on the balls of his feet to peer at the road.

Sure enough, the trucks rounded the corner. Three trucks, and even from here, Travis could see two men in the front. Suppose that all three trucks had the same arrangement, and that there were anywhere from two to four men in the backs…they were looking at going up against anywhere from twelve to twenty-four men.

Travis had faced worse odds. Besides, with enough ammunition and firepower, the odds could always be skewed in their favor.

Travis tensed, hand going to his gun, and watched, waited, ready…ready… _Three…two…one_.

"Hit it."

The det cord laid across the road exploded as the lead truck passed, sending the truck flying five feet in the air. Travis saw one man jump out, but then another explosion tossed the truck spinning as the flames reached the fuel tank, and Travis didn't see anyone get out after that.

By that time, Travis had already surged out of the brush, shooting at the driver of the second truck as he attempted to get out. He heard an answering burst of gunfire from the other side of the truck, Randi doing her part, and Kate and Amy taking care of the third truck's occupants.

Crouching against the side of the truck, Travis crept down the side, peering around the back. Randi was there, met his eyes, and he flashed her a series of hand signals. _On my mark. You go high, I'll go low. Only shoot if they shoot first._

If their guy was inside, then hopefully he had the common sense to be low by now, but they didn't want to accidentally put a bullet through him.

Randi nodded her assent and gripped the door handle, and Travis took a breath, readying his weapon. Okay…one…two…three!

He made the signal and they moved. Randi flung open the door; muzzle flash lit up the dark interior. Randi cried out, but let off a burst of gunfire as she fell, and there was an answering cry from inside. Travis took out the other guard, doing a quick check to make sure there was no one else inside. As concerned as he was for Randi, the last thing any of them needed was a bullet in the back because he forgot to check the truck.

By the time he got over there, Hudson was standing guard over Randi, stiff-legged and lips drawn back. Travis gently shooed him away and knelt down, pulling her hand away to check the wound. "It's not too bad," he said, giving her an encouraging smile. "Clean entry, no exit wound. As long as we get that bullet out of you, you'll be fine."

"I am fine," she grumbled, trying to sit up. That just made her cry out in pain, and Travis pushed her down again, putting pressure on the wound.

"Guys, could use you over here," he called over the comms. "You about finished up there?"

The last round of gunfire faded, and Kate said, _"Yeah, we're done. Got two dead, but the other two offered to surrender. We'll be right over."_

"Just make sure you tie them up," he said lightly.

Amy scoffed. _"You'll never let us live down that Riverside fiasco, will you?"_

"Of course not," Travis chirped brightly, ignoring the way his stomach clenched. "You know how much I love to hang onto any and all ammunition to use against you."

And if he joked, teased, and mocked, then Riverside and Pine Forest Hotel and all their other failures wouldn't weigh him down until he couldn't move.

They had a goal, and he was determined to see it through. He couldn't let himself be crippled by his fears and doubts.

Kate grumbled something he couldn't make out, but within a minute the two women were jogging over. Amy knelt beside Randi, pressing on the wound and taking over without asking. Travis stood, wiping his hands on his pants, and pretended it wasn't Randi's blood he was wiping off. She'd be fine. She'd be perfectly fine. Nothing to worry about at all.

"Alright. Good." He touched the comm. "Firewall, you there?"

"_Where else would I be?"_ Kendall questioned, and Travis tried not to grin because this wasn't the time, but oh, he adored that woman.

"Great," was all he said. "We're going to need you to bring the van around. Wrangler's gone and got herself shot."

"_Gotcha."_ Travis heard the van rev up in the background. _"I'll be right there. ETA three minutes."_

"See you then." With a sigh, he dropped his hand, looking over at Randi. Hudson was nosing at her good shoulder, and Randi absently petted his head, trying to comfort him despite how pale and wan she already looked. Great. Just great.

He looked back at Kate, who was waiting on him. "Come on." He jerked his head towards the truck. "Let's do this."

Kate graciously allowed him to take the lead. Hand on his gun, Travis hopped into the truck. Then stopped and frowned. "What the hell?"

The only things in the truck were two dead guards and a couple of wooden crates. He called to Kendall over the comms. "Firewall, you sure this is the right transport? Our guy's not here."

He heard the sound of typing, which was a scary thought, Kendall driving and typing at the same time. _"This is the one,"_ she said, probably pulling up some computer page. _"My intel says 'the subject' was going to be moved today, on this route. It was a theoretical research lab. The only subject there could be is our guy."_

"Yeah, well, we all know how accurate the intel was," Travis couldn't help but mutter, and immediately felt bad.

"_I did the best I could,"_ Kendall said softly, hurt.

Travis sighed, letting his hand drop off his weapon. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault."

It wasn't her fault the specs on the lab they'd raided were wrong. Wasn't her fault the 'empty' research lab had a few dozen unexpected guards and soldiers there. Wasn't her fault Paekman had been captured.

It wasn't her fault she found the doctored records that led them to believe it would be a cakewalk, and it wasn't her fault that things got so out of control. She did the best she could with the intel they had, and the fact that they got out with only one man left behind was a minor miracle.

It didn't make Travis feel any better.

Shaking himself out of those destructive thoughts, Travis frowned at the interior of the truck.

"Alright, well, if they weren't transporting our guy, let's see what they were moving."

Climbing over the dead guard, Travis squinted to read the label on the largest crate. "Firewall, do you have anything on shipping box 45763…or…uh…" He tilted his head, checking the second box. "Okay, 45763 A or B?"

"_You want me to drive to you. You want me to look up information. I can't do two things at once, you know,"_ Kendall grumbled even as Travis heard her typing. He grinned and said, "I believe in you, girl."

"_Shut up. Look, I've got nothing on either box, but as we know now, all the records I have from the lab have all been falsified. I have no way of looking up the real information without accessing the servers directly. Sorry."_

"Alright." Travis sighed, sharing a look with Kate. "Just get here and we can figure this out. We gotta get Wrangler back to Frankenstein."

"_Copy. Be there in a minute."_

Travis ran a hand through his hair. _Of course this went tits up,_ he thought sourly. _That's what my luck always seems to run these days._ First Phil, then Ellen, then Paekman, and now Randi. Travis was starting to worry he was cursed.

He hopped out of the truck and jogged to Randi's side. Ignoring the blood on the asphalt, he knelt, petting Hudson reassuringly. "How you doing, girl?"

Randi gave him a weak grin. "Never better." Her eyes were fluttering and her words slightly slurred. Shock or blood loss, or both. Either way, it wasn't good.

The van raced down the road, and Kendall was out of the vehicle almost before it was stopped, throwing the doors open. Kate, Amy, and Travis all helped get Randi in the back, lying her as comfortably as they could in the cramped space. Amy climbed in the back as well, resuming her place with her hands on Randi's wound.

Kendall immediately saw the problem. "Where are you guys going to sit?" With all the computer equipment in the back of the van, there was hardly room for Randi and Amy, let alone Travis and Kate.

Travis waved a hand. "It's alright. Don't worry about us. Just put Hudson in the front seat and drive as fast as you can back to base. I'm not going to lose Randi too."

Kendall gave him a look, torn between wanting to know what Travis's plan was and wanting to get Randi patched up. The latter won. With a click of her tongue, she trotted to the passenger door, pulling it open for Hudson. As soon as he was in, she ran around the front and climbed inside.

Travis waved as the van raced away, turning to find Kate with her mask up, staring at him. This wasn't her usual I-hate-your-personality-and-womanizing-ways look, but the more professional What's-the-plan-now look. Travis much preferred this look.

"We'll take the truck to rendezvous G," he announced, heading back towards said truck. He hopped up into the bed and, with as much respect as he could muster, dragged the bodies out of the back. Just because they worked for a corrupt government didn't mean they were all evil. Travis was sure they'd believed in their work.

But this was a war, and sometimes people had to die. He hated it to the depths of his soul, but there was nothing he could do.

He continued talking as he pulled the guards out. "We'll transfer the boxes to the van there, then I'll take the truck and dump it." When the last body was out, he closed up the back, looking at Kate. "Way I figure it, if they needed a whole convey for this, whatever's inside has gotta be pretty important. And if it's important, then we can use it." They were small enough as it was; they needed every advantage they could get.

Kate grinned. "Sounds like a plan."

**XXXX**

The switch went off perfectly. Rendezvous G belonged to one of Travis's foster mothers, a cigarette-smoking woman who owned a self-storage yard and who happily turned a blind eye to the things being stored in the lockers. Locker 523 had a van in it, gassed up with emergency packs containing false IDs and enough supplies and money to get anyone to a new city in a matter of days.

Even with everything inside it, there was still plenty of room in the van for both crates. Kate and Travis struggled with the larger, surprisingly heavy crate, and Travis could only imagine what was inside. The smaller box was much lighter, and Travis just stuck that on top of the first.

There was only one hitch that kept the plan from going perfectly. Luckily, it was the good kind of hitch, rather than the kind that sucked and involved gunfire.

Instead of Travis taking the army truck and dumping it, Kate offered to take it instead. "I know you're worried about Randi," she said. Then she ruined the moment by shrugging and adding, "I'll do a much better job of dumping it without a trace than you will, anyway."

Travis scowled, but he was too relieved to go home to argue much. He saw Kate off, waited ten minutes for her to get far enough away that no one would connect them, then drove out of the storage yard and back towards base.

Base was an old funeral home that had been shut down for decades. It had a morgue in the basement, which was a little creepy but worked perfectly as an infirmary, plenty of rooms for all of them, and a still-functioning incinerator, which meant they could get rid of anything incriminating in a moment if they had enough notice. It also had enough of a reputation as a haunted house that most of the neighbors kept away.

When he pulled into the garage at the back, the captain was waiting for him. Sutton was scowling, but Travis didn't know if that was because he was late or if something had happened to Randi. The first words out of his mouth were to question about her.

"Randi'll be fine," Sutton said. He waved back towards the house. "She's stable, and Jonelle's patching her up now. She lost a lot of blood and she'll be sleeping for a while, but she'll be fine." Still frowning, Sutton crossed his arms, staring at the van. "Amy says you brought us a present."

Travis grinned cheekily, rapping the side of the van with his knuckles. "I definitely brought you something. Whatever it is, it's important. Figured it'd be better for us to have it then them."

The captain nodded slowly. "Good thinking." Then, when Travis didn't move, he raised an eyebrow. "Well? Are you going to open it up and show me what's inside?"

"Right." Biting back a smile, Travis turned, grabbing a crowbar from a nearby workbench. With Sutton trailing behind, he opened up the back of the van and clambered inside.

There were no weapons inside the smaller, lighter box. There was nothing of importance inside at all, aside from a hard drive type thing that Kendall would have to get into. The rest was just clothing: a pair of neatly-folded Army-issue cargo pants, Army-issue boots, an Army-issue jacket with no insignia of any kind, and a white tank top. It looked like the personal effects of a dead solider.

Travis wasn't sure why these were so important they warranted an entire convey. Captain Sutton looked just as confused as he felt. Travis moved onto the bigger box.

Inside this crate was a pod-shaped metal tube. It looked sleek and futuristic and completely unlike anything Travis had ever seen before. Buttons and dials and monitors covered a small portion of the front; Travis wisely didn't touch any of them before Kendall could look at it to make sure it wasn't some sort of bomb or something. The last thing he needed was to accidentally explode them all.

There was a small, six-inch square glass plate in the tube, almost near the far end. Cautiously, not wanting to jostle the pod before knowing what was inside, Travis leaned over and peered through the cloudy glass.

"Holy shit!" He jerked back, almost falling out of the van in the process. Sutton stared at him.

"What? What is it?"

Travis couldn't even begin to find the words. He just pointed.

With some difficulty, the captain climbed inside the truck, maneuvering to peer in the glass plate. His reaction was less severe than Travis's, but just as vehement.

"Holy _shit_."

Swallowing, Travis crawled back upward, looking through the glass as though a second peek would change what he saw. It didn't.

Inside the silver tube, in some sort of pinkish fluid…was a man.

**XXXX**

Two and a half hours later, an hour after Randi was tucked away upstairs to recuperate, Jonelle pulled her gloves off and said, "Well, he's alive."

Travis and Captain Sutton both sat up. "What do you mean, _alive_?" Travis demanded, gesturing at the pod. "Nobody moves people like _this. _He's got to have drowned in all that pink stuff, at least."

Jonelle shrugged, leaning against the counter. "Don't know what I can tell you, Travis. These readings say he's alive." She tapped the dials and monitors with a fingernail. "This measures heart rate, brainwaves, rate of breathing. Everything. And they all register action. Not a lot, for sure—he's probably in some sort of suspended animation. But he's definitely alive."

"And the pink goo?"

Another casual shrug. "I won't know until I open it up, but my guess, it's some sort of oxygenated gel, like amniotic fluid. Something jam-packed with nutrients to keep him going and full of oxygen so he can breathe it in. But it's speculation until I can test it."

Travis made a face. "Jonelle, if there are two words I never want to hear you say again, it's 'amniotic fluid'."

Jonelle just smiled a razor-sharp smile and said sweetly, "Why Travis, I didn't know you even _knew_ what that meant."

"Cut it out," Sutton said, before the sniping could get too heated. He turned to Jonelle. "Can we wake him up?"

"Can we? Sure." Jonelle waved a hand around the morgue-turned-infirmary. "I've got everything I need to whip something up right here. _Should we_? I don't know." She turned an inquiring eyebrow to the captain. "Should we go ahead and do it? Or should we wait for Kendall to crack the code and get into that hard drive you found?"

Sutton stared at the mysterious pod, frowning thoughtfully. Travis and Jonelle stayed silent, not wanting to interrupt with their bickering. There were times for picking at one another and times to keep it professional; this was the latter.

"How long will it take for him to wake?" Sutton finally asked.

The woman rolled her eyes in thought, doing the math in her head. "I don't know. In theory, about…three, four hours? Maybe? But I don't know what they knocked him out with, I don't know how he'll react to it. I can't give you a guarantee."

Sutton took another moment to think it over, then nodded permission. "Do it. We need to find out who this guy is. If we're lucky, Kendall will crack the hard drive by then. If not, we can just ask him when he wakes. Either way, we'll get some answers." Orders given, he waited for nods of acquiescence before turning and walking out.

"You. Come." Jonelle pointed Travis over to the pod, fiddling with dials. Travis reluctantly sidled over, keeping the pod between himself and her. They worked together, but things had been tense ever since that night last December, and she had access to all sorts of sharp things. Travis preferred to keep his body parts where they were, thank you.

"How are you doing?" he asked, watching her hands. Her hands were her most dangerous part, followed closely by her sharp tongue. Right now her hands twisted something, and the pod made a _snap_ and a _hiss_, like every depressurization scene he'd ever seen in any movie.

"Lift," Jonelle ordered, utterly ignoring his attempt at conversation. That was okay; Travis wasn't all that into small talk anyway. He lifted the upper third of the pod away, revealing the goopy pink interior and the man inside. After a moment's hesitation, he placed the lid on the floor, off by the wall, and came back over to study the guy.

He looked to be about Travis's age, maybe a little younger. White, blond, and aside from a pair of dog tags around his neck, completely naked. Even unconscious, he looked tense, like he was poised to fight.

"Scoot." Jonelle came right up beside him, bumping him out of the way with her hip a bit more harshly than she needed to, if Travis was going to be honest. But he didn't complain because she had a needle in her hands (when did she get that? he was watching her hands so she couldn't sneak up on him with stuff like that!)—hands which were covered in huge yellow rubber gloves.

To Travis's complete disgust, she plunged her hands right in the pink goop and injected the syringe in the comatose guy's arm. When she pulled her arms out, it made a disgusting _glorp_ sound. Travis gagged a little and stepped back.

"That's nasty," he muttered, letting her get to the sink to peel the gloves off. And he was still lingering over her _amniotic fluid_ comment, which was in and of itself completely disgusting.

It only took a minute for her to wash up. When she was done, she stalked across the room, grabbing a tarp from the closet in the corner. Spine stiff like an angry cat, she stalked to the one hospital bed they had (stolen from an abandoned clinic last year). Travis watched her work, feeling utterly out of place; he knew he _ought _to leave and find something else to do, but he wasn't about to leave Jonelle in a room with a stranger who'd just been given the drugs to wake him up. Sure, Jonelle said it could take a few hours, but what if she was wrong? Travis wasn't going to leave her, no matter how awkward things were.

And oh, things were _so_ awkward.

"So," he said lamely, "Uh…nice weather."

"Right." She wasn't impressed by his attempt at small talk. "Haven't seen you down here much."

"I don't get shot much."

"You should rectify that."

Travis frowned. "Uh…no, I don't think I should." Because one, getting shot hurt like hell, and two, he wanted to be nowhere near Jonelle when he was in pain and defenseless, because she scared him. In a desperate attempt to get her off the subject, he changed it. "Are we going to just keep him in there?" He jerked his head toward the pod, like there was any other 'him' he could be talking about right now.

She turned, giving him a scathing look, gesturing to the tarp-covered bed. "What do you think I'm doing here, Travis, preparing the bed for a visit from my grandmother? _Of course_ we're not going to leave him in there." Grumbling under her breath—probably curses at Travis—she tucked the ends of the tarp over the mattress.

"You're going to help me get him over here," she ordered, not looking his way. "The fluid'll drain off, and it'll give me a chance to check his vitals. Plus, it'll let his lungs clear out, which I'm sure he'll appreciate when he wakes." She turned, giving him a once-over. "If you don't want to get _amniotic fluid_ on your clothes, I'd suggest changing into scrubs."

Travis was torn between leaving Jonelle for a minute even to change in the other room and the thought of the pink goo ruining his clothes. He compromised by leaving the door open so he could hear if anything happened.

By the time he returned, Jonelle had the bed made up and a second pair of rubber gloves laid out for him. Grimacing, he tugged them on, but he wasn't about to argue with her.

"Get his head up," Jonelle ordered, tucking the tarp into the last corner of the matress. "I'll help with the legs."

The pink goo was icky and it smelled funny and Travis really hated sticking his hands in it. He was going to need to take like three showers later. But he did it, wrapping his hands around the unconscious blonde's shoulders and pulling him out of the goo.

"Shouldn't we have let the goo drain off _before_ we stuck wake-up juice in him?" it occurred to Travis to ask.

"It should be fine," Jonelle says, unlocking the wheels on the hospital bed. "He may wake in an hour or four, but no one comes out of any sort of suspended animation or induced coma in fifteen minutes."

"Right, right. Okay." It seemed to make sense, sure, and Jonelle was a doctor, she'd know better than he would.

And then the blonde opened his eyes.

"You're wrong!" Travis shrieked, dropping the stranger back in the pink goo. Blondie took a startled gasp and immediately started thrashing.

"What?!" Jonelle abandoned the hospital bed and raced over. "There's no way it should have worked that fast!"

"Well it did!" The guy thrashed again, one hand grabbing the edge of the pod, and Travis didn't know whether to rush forward and help or back away. "I thought you said it would take a few hours!"

"Not the time, Travis!" Rudely, Jonelle shoved him out of the way, grabbing the blond by the shoulders and hauling him upright. The guy continued to thrash, gagging up pink goo.

"What's happening?!"

"He's drowning, what do you think?"

"I thought you said that couldn't happen!" That last came out close to a wail; Travis was panicking and he knew it. This was _so_ out of his depths here.

"Yeah, you wake up with fluid in your lungs and try to tell your brain it's oxygenated enough to breathe," Jonelle snapped, supporting the guy as he leaned over the side of the pod and vomited pinkish fluid. The glare she shot Travis's wait could have leveled buildings. "If you're not going to help then get the hell out!"

Travis was not going to help. He wouldn't have even known where to start. This was way out of his expertise.

He took her advice and left to go get Cap.

**XXXX**

"What is going on?"

Jonelle glanced at the back room, where the pod-man was in the shower scrubbing the pink goo off himself. "I have no idea, sir," she said, hugging her elbows. "He shouldn't have woken up that fast. The state he was in, there's no way. Coming out of a coma isn't like the movies. You don't just jump up and run a marathon. It takes hours, sometimes _days, _and you have to reacquaint yourself to movement and physicality and…it's impossible. _No one_ can wake up that fast."

"But he did." Travis fingered the gun on his hip, feeling much more confident with his weapon on him. He didn't know what this guy was about, but he knew how to handle his gun, and he could deal with anything the stranger might try.

"Yes, Travis, obviously he did." Jonelle rolled her eyes, and Travis was mildly grateful. If she could still snap at him even when she was spooked, then things probably weren't _that_ bad. "But he shouldn't have," she continued, turning back to the captain. "I don't know what's going on, sir. I have no idea."

Sutton opened his mouth to reply—

The water shut off.

As one, the three of them turned towards the door to the back room. Less than a minute later, the blonde came into the infirmary, wearing nothing but a pair of scrub pants and his dog tags.

He hesitated, scanning the three of them with ice blue eyes. They were like lasers, and Travis felt like he was being scanned, decoded, and assessed, all in one glance. He shifted uneasily, hand twitching on his gun.

Those sharp eyes followed the movement, calculated, and shut down. When he looked back up, the stranger's face was totally expressionless.

He moved to the group, silent on bare feet, and came to attention by the exam table. "Sir."

Sutton straightened, like being called 'Sir' by someone at attention reminded him of his military days. "At ease."

The blonde shifted into parade rest, and Travis's hands twitched on his gun again. Military. He didn't like the military. Some soldiers were fine, Travis had family that were ex-military, but as a whole…

Again, those blue eyes flickered towards Travis, eyeing the gun on his hip. This time, when he looked up, Travis could have sworn he saw a hint of a smirk on the pale face. _What are you so amused about?_ Travis thought, but he didn't say it. Cap was handling this right now.

"What's your name, soldier?" Sutton asked, recognizing the obvious signs the same way Travis did.

The blonde's gaze fixed straight ahead, staring at a point somewhere ten feet beyond Sutton's shoulder. "My designation is 3499-W5, sir."

Travis and Sutton shared a look. Neither of them had heard of a designation like that in any branch of the US military. Even most foreign countries had service numbers that were strictly numerals. Travis made a mental note to have Kendall look it up as Sutton turned back to the soldier.

"Thank you. But what's your name?"

The blonde's face flickered, almost with confusion, and he turned his head just enough to look at Sutton. "3499-W5." The tone of his voice was not exactly _I am repeating this slowly for your benefit because I suspect you are slow-witted in some respect_. But it was close.

Sutton didn't know what to do with that, that much was clear. Travis didn't have any ideas either.

"Are you alright?" Jonelle butted in, stepping closer than Travis thought was advisable. "Any soreness in your throat or chest? Any trouble breathing?"

"I'm fine," the blonde replied. Then he hesitated. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Go ahead," Sutton allowed.

The blonde turned to Jonelle. "Generally, I'm not woken _in_ the transport pod. It should be in my file?"

"Transport pod?" Travis questioned, at the same time Sutton asked, "Your file?"

The blonde looked between Travis and Sutton, eyes narrowing. Calmly, calm enough it sent chills down Travis's spine, he said, "You're not from the facility, are you?"

"Sure we are," Cap blustered, but the solider saw right through it, Travis could see it on his face, this was going to go badly, he drew his gun—

The blonde moved. It was a blur; Travis had to think it through later to even realize what exactly happened.

The solider turned, sweeping Jonelle's legs out from underneath her. As she fell, he continued spinning, tucking into a roll that brought him right to Sutton's feet. As he surged upward, he lashed out with his hands, striking knee—chest—throat—grabbed the captain's gun and spun, finger on the trigger—

All in the time it took Travis to draw his gun.

Travis found himself staring at the barrel of his captain's gun, held by a soldier who couldn't possibly have just done what he did. He blinked, looked into blue eyes that glittered with ice. There was no pity, no mercy, no remorse. When the blonde pulled the trigger, Travis would be dead.

"You are _not_ from the facility."

Travis closed his eyes.

**XXXX**

The funeral home didn't have any sort of holding cell. They didn't exactly bring prisoners to their home base. So he sat in the old receiving room, hands cuffed behind his back and legs zip-tied to chair legs.

Personally, Travis would have preferred to manacle him in some deep, dark dungeon somewhere, but he was paranoid like that. He just didn't think a simple pair of cuffs would hold that guy. Unfortunately, they didn't have any dungeons handy.

"I don't get it, Cap," Travis murmured, standing in the doorway, watching their prisoner. The soldier sat loose in his chair, staring straight ahead, looking almost bored and seemingly taking no interest in his guards. Kate and Amy both had their weapons out, one in front, one in back, and they were watching the blonde like a hawk, ready to react at even the slightest twitch.

Travis turned to Sutton. "He went through us like tissue paper. He could have easily killed us all, taken all of our files, and escaped to whatever handlers he's got. So why'd he give up?"

Sutton shrugged, watching the blonde. "Maybe he just didn't want to go back."

It seemed as good an answer as any. It certainly wasn't like he stopped because the LAPD had superior firepower. Instead, he'd just…surrendered, easy as that. He'd shown off (some of) his abilities and given up.

Travis had no doubt that this guy could escape if he wanted to. Probably wouldn't even break a sweat doing it. Maybe the question wasn't why he didn't want to go, but why he wanted to _stay_.

"Captain?"

Both men looked up. Kendall was leaning over the rail into the foyer, looking worried.

"There's something you need to see."

**XXXX**

"So I cracked the hard drive," Kendall announced, dropping into the chair in front of her bank of computers. "It's his file."

"Who is he?" Sutton asked.

"_What_ is he?" Travis demanded, because that was really the better question.

Kendall quirked an eyebrow. "That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?" She typed a quick command and a scanned document came up. It had the blonde soldier's picture in the top corner.

"He's called 3499-W5. Don't give me that look, Travis, that's what they refer to him as through the entire file. Occasionally it's shortened to W5, but as far as this file is concerned, he doesn't have a name. As far as the world is concerned, he doesn't exist."

"That looks like a standard military file," Sutton said, leaning over the back of her chair to peer at the screen.

"It is. Sort of." Kendall began scrolling through the document; pages and pages flew by. "It's way more in-depth than any military file I've ever seen. There's hundreds and hundreds of pages, detailing every aspect of his life. I mean, I've got birth records here! Whatever this facility is, he's been there since before he was born."

"Why?" Travis leaned forward too, scanning the rapidly-moving document. "What's so special about him?"

Kendall swiveled to face them again. "Do you remember the Beijing Incident, ten years back?"

Travis got a bad feeling.

"Of course I do," Sutton said. "Everyone does. What does this have to do with Beijing?"

"Genetic engineering." The screen stopped on the first page again. Kendall tapped her nail on the blonde's picture. "According to the file, this guy is a product of genetic engineering."

She took a breath. "Captain, this guy's not human."

**XXXX**

Ten years ago, a devastating flu spread through China. Elderly and the very young died within a day, but it also killed many otherwise healthy men and women in the prime of their lives. It was an epidemic, and China was put on quarantine. No one went in, no one went out. If it got to the rest of the world…

A group of scientists and doctors came together to find a cure. The group isolated the virus's DNA sequencing and, using genetic manipulation, tried to insert a self-destruct code. In theory, 24 hours after the virus became active in a person's body, it would die. Even with the code, people would still die, but without the virus continually replicating in the body, young, healthy men and woman would have quadruple the chance at life and the epidemic would cease.

Something went wrong. The code was mangled, or maybe it was just put in the wrong way. Instead of self-destructing after a day, it became nearly invincible. And then it got out, carried by one of the researchers, and it spread to the populace. Just like the previous bug, but now no medications could relieve even some of the symptoms. A super flu bug.

It spread to 87 countries and killed over a billion people before it finally ground to a halt. A sixth of the world's population, gone in only a year, all because some scientists messed up.

When things finally settled down, people were terrified. China, along with 87 other countries, outright banned any sort of genetic manipulation or engineering, making it illegal to the highest level. Other countries, the United States included, put so many restrictions and regulations in place that it was almost impossible to do anything about it.

Plus there was the stigma, of course, and many a good scientist or researcher had been 'let go' for flimsy reasons that essentially boiled down to _We don't want you working on genetics here because it could go wrong and we'd be blamed for it_.

It wasn't illegal, exactly, but it was so scandalous that if the LAPD really had proof that someone had facilitated an entire lab for genetic engineering, the people responsible would be dragged into the light and forced to step down. Officials would be replaced, accounts would be seized and scrutinized, possibly entire systems would crumble. It would be a huge blow for their side.

The proof they needed was sitting right downstairs.

"Not human?" Sutton repeated softly after a few moments of silence.

"Mostly human," Kendall corrected. She typed a command and a DNA strand popped up, slowly rotating. "I'd say about…ninety-five percent human."

Travis shot a wary glance at the floor, like he could see right through it to the man in the chair downstairs. "What's the other five percent?"

"Wolf, mostly." More typing—a second screen popped up, looking like a detailed grocery list. "Some owl, a little shark. But they didn't just add animal DNA. They modified his human traits, too. I don't understand most of the science, but it looks like he's got heightened senses, enhanced speed and endurance, increased stamina, and a healing factor upped by a thousand. This guy's better, faster, stronger, and he's not going to get sick a day in his life."

"What were they going for?" Travis wondered, except he knew the answer as soon as he said it.

Captain Sutton stared grimly at the spiraling DNA. "They wanted to make a super soldier."

Kendall leaned back in her chair. "Well. Looks like they did it."

**XXXX**

He was still sitting where they'd left him, looking just as bored as before. He didn't so much as glance their way when they entered, but Travis was certain he knew right where everyone in the room was in relation to himself.

And now that Travis knew exactly what kind of person the soldier was, he knew how easily the blonde could rip through them if he wanted to.

It made Travis nervous. He didn't like feeling powerless.

Sutton pulled up a chair, just out of reach of the soldier. It wouldn't mean a damn thing if the soldier decided to move, but Sutton did things his own way. Travis didn't sit, flanking his captain's shoulder with his gun loose by his side. Kate and Amy lingered where they were.

"Do you know who I am?" Sutton asked. If he was apprehensive about the conversing with a genetically engineered super soldier, it didn't show in his voice.

That cold gaze did a slow sweep down the captain's body. "Ex-military, retired, honorable discharge," the blonde recited, sounding bored. "Bitter and angry, but you've turned over a new leaf and you're embracing your zen side. You've let yourself go physically, but you're sharp as a tack mentally and have a high capacity for leadership and strategic planning. You'd die for your men, they'd die for you, and you dread the day you lose another one on your watch." He gave a thin, humorless smile. "How'd I do?"

Sutton blinked. "That's…not quite what I was asking."

The other man smirked, just a little. "But was I wrong?"

"Not particularly." Sutton leaned forward, elbows resting casually on his knees. "I'm Mike Sutton, leader of the LAPD."

One blonde eyebrow slowly rose. "The terrorist group."

"Freedom fighters," Travis snapped automatically, defensively.

The soldier gave him a long, amused look…and ignored him completely.

"So what," the blonde asked Sutton, "does a renowned group of _freedom fighters_ want with me?"

Cap looked up at Travis like he was asking how much he should reveal. Travis shrugged minutely. _Your call, Cap. I'll follow your lead, even if I don't like it_.

Captain Sutton turned back and took a breath. "Twenty-four hours ago, my team raided a covert government facility. Our intel was incorrect, and one of our men was captured. Last night we observed that things seemed to be a bit panicked, and everyone looked like they were packing up and moving. We intercepted chatter that someone was being moved from the facility. We assumed it was our guy. Instead, we found you."

"Hmm." The blonde leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. "Why are you telling me this?"

Travis tensed, gun whipping up to point directly between the blonde's eyes, and it was only incredible self-control that he didn't pull the trigger. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kate and Amy doing the same. Sutton didn't seem bothered at all that the super soldier had slipped his cuffs.

"I'm telling you this because you still haven't left."

The blonde stilled. All expression slid off his face, and his entire body froze. Travis wasn't even sure the guy was breathing, he was so motionless. Travis thought he'd been still before, but this was like watching the man turn to stone.

"I saw your file," Sutton said softly. "If you wanted to, you could get out of here, easy as taking candy from a baby."

"Easier," the other male said absently. "Babies cry. You'd all be dead."

The matter-of-fact tone made Travis's hair stand on end. It sounded like a boast, but he believed it. He'd seen how the blonde moved, almost faster than the eye could track.

If he wanted them all dead, they would be.

It didn't set Travis's mind at ease.

Sutton took it all in stride. "But we're not, and that tells me two things. You don't have anywhere else to go. But you don't want to go back."

The blonde stared at the captain, face blank, but Travis could see calculations running behind blue eyes. Abruptly, he sat back, frowning thoughtfully. "You want me to help you get your man back."

As one, Travis, Kate and Amy all swiveled their heads to stare at their leader. Sutton didn't even look up. "It couldn't hurt."

Curiously, the blonde cocked his head. "Oh? And what will I get out of this deal?"

Jerking a thumb over his shoulder at Travis, Sutton said, "My lieutenant knows people. They'll get you papers, credits, an entire history. As soon as this is done, you can disappear. Live a normal life."

The blonde let out a short bark of laughter. "They'll kill you."

"We're already wanted fugitives," Travis pointed out, still reeling from the captain's unknown plan.

He was fixed with a laser-sharp glare. "Right now you're _nothing_. You're mosquitoes biting at a lion. You think you're important but you're _not_." (And wasn't that a blow to their confidence.) The blonde looked at Sutton. "If I help you, they will hunt you down. They'll kill all your people, burn all your buildings." He leaned forward, voice deadly serious. "I'm their greatest weapon. They will _raze your organization_ _to the ground_ to get me back."

Sutton leaned forward, equally intense. "Then we cripple them until they can't fight back."

"Yeah?" The solider raised one eyebrow. "How do you expect to do that?"

"We'll have you."

There was a tense moment of silence. Travis waited, gun at the ready, though he knew from experience that he wouldn't be fast enough. He'd always trusted the captain, followed him this far since the beginning, but if this went bad…

The blonde snorted. While he didn't relax, some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. "Aren't you confident. This could be interesting." Then he grinned, and for the first time Travis could see the wolf that had been blended in his DNA. "Count me in."

**XXXX**

"First things first," Sutton said, climbing to his feet. "What do we call you?"

"I don't officially have a name," the blonde replied, snapping the zip-ties around his ankles and standing.

"Someone must have given you _some_ sort of name, other than that awful number," Sutton insisted. "There must be _something _we can call you."

Pain slid across the blonde's face. It surprised Travis. So far all he'd seen from the other man was arrogant confidence or empty expressionlessness. Travis hadn't thought there'd be anything else.

But really. Travis of all people should know better.

Then it was gone, and the self-confidence was back. "Wes. You can call me Wes."

"Alright. Wes." Sutton held out his hand. "Welcome to the team."

Wes looked mildly amused, but he took it and shook.

"Laroche, Cafferty, take Wes to the war room. We've got planning to do. Marks and I will be with you in a minute."

Sutton waited until the two women and the soldier were gone before turning to his second. "You don't like it."

Travis scowled at the empty doorway. "No. I don't like it at all."

"Why?" the older man asked mildly.

"Why?" Travis shoved his gun back in its holster, pacing in front of the captain. "We don't know a thing about this guy!"

"We have his file," Sutton pointed out.

"That doesn't mean a damn thing, and you know it." Travis scowled at the older man. "A file can't tell you anything about _him_. He's spent his entire life in the hands of the very government we're trying to take down. And did you forget that he's a _genetically altered super soldier? _For all we know, he's a time bomb just waiting to go off." He turned on the captain, hands out beseechingly. "Why are you trusting this guy?"

Suttons gaze was soft. "Why? Because he reminds me of a young man I once knew. Angry, alone, taken advantage at every turn by the systems that were supposed to protect him. Cynical and cold so no one could ever hurt him. Sound like anyone you know?"

Travis looked at the ground.

Sutton came over, resting his hand on Travis's shoulder. "Travis Marks. I gave you a chance when no one else would. Can't you do the same for him?" He gave Travis's shoulder a little squeeze. "I have a good feeling about this."

"The whole genetics thing doesn't bother you?"

"Not particularly." The captain shrugged. "You were just a kid at the time of the Beijing pandemic, but I grew up in an era before then, when people were genetically modifying fruits and vegetables to do everything from removing the need for pesticides to staying fresher longer. And it's not like he did this to himself. The least I can do is judge him on the things _he_ shows me. Can you do the same?"

After a moment, Travis sighed. "I guess I can try. But I can't guarantee anything."

"That's all I'm asking." Sutton released him, moving towards the doorway. "Come on. We've got plans to make."

Travis followed the captain all the way into the war room, casting a wary glance at the blonde in the corner.

_If he murders us in our sleep, it'll be your fault, Cap._

It was a small consolation.

There were worse things than death.

**XXXX**

After Beijing, the social stigma against genetic manipulation was ingrained in every country in the world. People who practiced things like cloning and stem cell research, which weren't even technically genetic manipulation as the scientific community understood it, had to be careful, because it was too closely related to what people _thought of _as genetic manipulation. Basically, people mucking about with DNA could only be doing bad things.

There were those who tried to show how such manipulations could be used for good, to grow better crops and cure diseases. They were generally kicked out of their fields and ostracized, because the public backlash was too great. That was how Jonelle ended up in their arms; she'd found a way to cure a certain type of leukemia, but it involved genetics; as a result, she'd been 'let go' for 'personal reasons', so as not to bring a stain on the company's name. She joined the LAPD because she wanted to change people's minds about genetic manipulation, and the first step was to take down the government that made it out to be the Big Bad Wolf in the world.

Travis could see where Jonelle and her ilk were coming from. A lot of good could come from genetics. He'd had a foster mom, way back when, who'd lost everything, including her life, to Parkinson's. If genetic engineering had been in some way able to help her, or cure her…

But at the same time, he could see where the naysayers were coming from. Countries were out there making bioweapons; scientists were mucking about with diseases that, if it got loose, could jeopardize the world. Again.

There was a lot of fear attached to genetics ever since Beijing. But there was also respect, wariness, and outright support for the idea.

Travis saw it all in the war room as he stepped inside.

Wes stood in the corner of the room, out of the way with his back to the wall. He looked relaxed, but Travis had no doubt he was watching everyone, cataloguing their reactions and ready to react if needed.

As for everyone else…

Kendall stood a few feet away, leaning over the main table. She was nervous, tapping her fingers on the table, and her eyes kept flicking towards Wes, but overall she tried not to show it. Jonelle, next to her, wasn't nervous at all; like Kendall, she kept glancing over at Wes, but she looked fascinated, not nervous or worried. Well, maybe a little worried, but more like she wanted to run a bunch of tests and see how Wes ticked.

Cap, standing at the front of the room, was completely indifferent. He acted like Wes was just a new member of the team. Travis wished he could be so cavalier.

Kate and Amy flanked the captain, and both of them were watching Wes and making no effort to hide it. Amy hung back, hand resting on the gun at her hip, watching with a soldier's eyes for any suspicious movement from the blonde. Wariness, and an instinctual urge to protect her people. Kate showed the same signs, but at the same time she looked a little bit afraid too. It was strange. There weren't many things that made Kate afraid.

As for Travis…

Well, Travis didn't really know how he felt about Wes. He didn't like the guy, that was for sure, but he didn't know if that was because the man was genetically engineered or simply because he was still a potential enemy. He was still slightly convinced Wes was just playing them.

He needed to think a little deeper on the issue, and now was not the time.

"Alright, gang, here we go," Captain Sutton said. Travis situated himself against the wall, placed so he could see the table but he also had a clear line of sight on Wes if needed. Not that it would do any good, but if Wes _did _turn on them, Travis would die keeping his team safe.

Sutton waved a hand at Wes's corner. "This is Wes. He's going to help us get Paekman back. Wes, this is the team. Kendall, Jonelle, Amy, Kate, and Travis." He pointed to each person in turn.

Wes looked them over with a critical eye, all six of them. "Pretty small group considering all the damage your organization causes."

"This is just the main group," Sutton explained, completely oblivious to Travis's mental shouts of _No, don't give him too much information captain!_ "We have cells all over the country."

"Cells." Wes raised one eyebrow. "Like…terrorists."

"_Freedom fighters_," Travis snapped before he could help himself.

Wes smirked.

"Travis, shut up. He's just trying to get a rise out of you." Jonelle gave him a dirty look, like _Travis _was the one interrupting the planning session.

"You do make it awfully easy," Wes added, smiling innocently.

Travis scowled and vowed not to rise to the bait again.

The captain leaned forward, resting his palms against the table. "Alright. You all know the situation. They've had Paekman for a day and show signs of moving out and disappearing. We need to get him back." He looked at Wes. "Do you have any intel on our man?"

Wes shook his head. "They keep me pretty isolated. I'm not allowed to know about other sections of the facility due to…certain incidents in the past."

Travis's curiosity was peaked. Judging by the looks on the other's faces, they wanted to know that particular story too.

Now wasn't the time.

Captain Sutton's face fell. "Then we'll just have to recon for a few days, get enough intel to extract our man without losing any more. After that, we can figure out who to send the file to, to have the most impact."

"That's not going to work," Kendall said, just as Wes said, "That plan will fail miserably."

The two looked at each other. Wes nodded at the hacker to go first.

"Sir, I know this is a great thing for us," Kendall said, fingers flying over her laptop, "but we can't just send Wes's file to the UN and hope they take down the officials who facilitated this whole thing."

"Why not?"

"Why not? I'll show you why not." She flipped the laptop around—dozens of pictures and articles covered the screen. "The UN is one of the leading groups against genetic engineering. Every single case brought to them has ended with the subject being eradicated. Every one. I don't think it will matter that this is the first case of a human subject. They'll still take him out of the picture. They aren't going to take the chance that another Beijing could happen."

Jonelle snorted. "Right, because GE is communicable, like a cold."

Kendall ignored her. "And even if we did manage a death certificate of some sort, they wouldn't believe it without a body, or some other evidence. If they got even an inkling that he was still alive, they would hunt him down forever."

Travis couldn't help glancing over at their guest. Wes looked pretty impassive for a guy whose future was being discussed so bluntly in front of him, but Travis already knew how good Wes was at keeping a blank face. He had no idea what the blonde might be thinking.

Sutton sighed, running a hand over his face. "Well, there goes that part of the plan."

"You won't turn me in?" Wes asked. He didn't sound surprised, but Travis got the feeling he was.

"Of course not." Sutton gave him a smile, the kind that inspired loyalty and promised the world. "I said you'd get papers and a new life after this, and I keep my word."

Wes didn't so much as twitch, but something about him relaxed. Something around the eyes, maybe.

"Why won't our extraction plan work?" Sutton asked Wes, breaking the moment.

Wes straightened, a solider reporting his findings. "You were right when you said they're moving out. There are security protocols in place in case of a breach—such as your raid yesterday. Once they realize I'm missing, the schedule will move up."

"What does that entail?" Kate asked, moving past her wariness as she was drawn into the conversation.

"Within twenty-four hours, they'll move everyone out of the facility, scrub the computers, and torch the place."

"And Paekman?" Amy asked quietly from the edge of the room.

Wes hesitated, just a second. "It's been a day, and our…their interrogators are brutal. Your man may already be dead."

That was unacceptable. "He's not." Travis wouldn't believe it until he saw the body with his own eyes.

Wes gave him a long look. "_If_ he's still alive," he said slowly, "then they'll have one of two options. They'll either kill him, leave his body in the wreck, and pin the destruction of the facility on the LAPD. Or they'll take him with them."

"In your experience," Sutton asked, "what do you think they'll do?"

"They'll kill him." Wes didn't hesitate. "It's more advantageous than any information they _might_ still glean."

He looked around the room. "If you want any chance of getting your man back, you need to go in tonight."

**XXXX**

The captain called for an hour break. "We're going to need it," he said, sending them off.

He pulled Travis to the side before he could escape. "Marks. Keep an eye on our guest."

Travis pulled a face. "I thought we were trusting him." Then he winced—that sounded petulant even to his ears.

Sutton scowled. "I'm willing to trust him with this mission. But we've invited the fox into the chicken coop, and I don't want him wandering around until we're sure he won't eat all the eggs. So you get to watch him."

"Your metaphors are getting weird, cap," Travis groaned, but he didn't argue the point. He'd been thinking the same thing anyway. "Fine. But if he murders me and runs off, this is my preemptive 'I told you so'."

"Noted." Sutton pushed him towards the door where Wes was casually waiting. "Go get him something to wear to a raid."

Travis grumbled and stomped out of the war room. "Come on, then," he snapped. Wes fell into step behind him, silent as a shadow.

"I'm not going to murder you," Wes offered as they climbed the stairs. And _oh yeah_, he was supposed to have super enhanced hearing too. "And if I did, I'd kill everyone else too, so the 'I told you so' isn't really effective."

Travis shot the blonde a glare over his shoulder. "It's because you say things like that I want to shoot you."

"Well. So much for honesty growing trust."

"It's going to take a lot more than a few morbid facts for me to trust you." Travis pushed open the third door on the left. "In here."

Wes followed, looking around with a critical eye. "Nice. I like the bunk beds. Makes it real homey."

"Shut up." Travis yanked open the closet and started going through the clothes he had.

The springs creaked as Wes sat on the bottom bunk. "Do you share with your missing man? What's his name, Paekman?"

"David." Travis tossed a black sweater at the blonde. "David Paek. But everyone calls him Paekman."

"I see." Wes held the sweater up. "So do you dislike me because I'm a genetically engineered freak, or simply because I'm here and your friend isn't?"

Travis was thrown. "What?"

Blue eyes glittered over the top of the sweater. "You're not being very subtle, Travis. Neither is the rest of your team, but at least their reasons are obvious enough. You…" Wes lowered the sweater, head tilting to the side. "I can't figure you out."

Travis tried not to be discomforted that an enemy supersoldier was trying to 'figure him out'. He wasn't succeeding.

"Fine. You know what? You're right." He turned, tossing a pair of black cargo pants at Wes. "I _don't_ like you. I don't like you because I don't know you, and if I don't know you I can't trust you."

"You have my file," Wes offered.

"That doesn't mean a damn thing! That's just facts and figures and medical reports. I don't know what scares you or stresses you out or makes you nervous. I don't know how you fight in the field, if you'll watch my back or if you'll turn around and betray us all."

Wes stiffened. "You really think I'd do that?"

"Well, I really don't know, do I?" Travis threw his hands up in the air. "I don't know anything about you."

Slowly, Wes stood. He didn't stand like a normal person—he uncoiled from his position like a snake, one muscle at a time, sinuous grace and fluid motions. It made something in Travis's brain perk up and say _Stay still, be quiet, if you don't move he can't see you_.

"If you really think I would betray _anyone_ to _those people_," Wes said calmly, which was almost worse than if he'd been yelling, "then you're dumber than you look."

Travis bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Wes gave him a dark look. "You have my file. Go read it. I'm sure you'll figure it out." He gathered the sweater and cargo pants under his arm and turned towards the door.

"Hey! Where are you going?!" As much as Travis wanted to be rid of the blonde for good, he was supposed to be watching the guy.

The soldier waved negligently over his shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't go far. I'll just find one of my other jailers."

That made Travis stop still, a cold feeling in his gut. It was long enough for Wes to slip out the door; Travis quickly followed, but by that time Wes was already halfway down the stairs and calling for Kate or Amy.

Travis took a breath. It was true, he didn't know a thing about the guy. He'd been living in this paranoid world for far too long. He'd never used to make snap judgements and eye perfect strangers with suspicion before.

He turned away from the stairs and went to find Kendall.

Wes's file wouldn't tell him everything, but it was a damn good place to start.

**XXXX**

Wes was sitting on the couch when Travis came down an hour later, staring at the small TV and tapping absently at the arm of the couch. Kate sat in the far corner of the room, as far from Wes as she could, carefully cleaning her gun. Judging by the stench of gun oil in the room, she'd been doing it for a while. Amy was in the chair next to the couch, casually flipping through a magazine, but her gun was close at hand and flipping through the pages fast enough that she probably wasn't actually reading anything.

Travis paused on the stairs, watching the scene, and he didn't know how to feel. Sure, Wes was an intruder in their fortress and no one quite trusted him yet, so the suspicion was warranted. They would do it with any newcomer or asset they were uncertain again.

But, knowing what he knew now, having read (okay, more like skimmed) Wes's file…

The man had basically been tortured, experimented on, and weaponized his entire life. Travis still didn't trust him, not the way he trusted his team, but after what he read it was a lot harder to think of Wes as the enemy. He was more a victim in this than anyone.

And yeah, he could see why Cap was willing to give Wes a chance. He could even understand why Cap made the parallels he did between Wes and Travis. Didn't have to _like_ it, but he could understand.

Travis gave his head a rough shake. This was just distracting him. He couldn't afford to be distracted, not so close to a mission. Shoving the thoughts aside, Travis descended the rest of the way down the stairs and entered the front room. Without taking his eyes from the screen, Wes moved the pile of clothes from his side to his lap, clearing a space for Travis.

Considerate of him.

Sitting in the far corner, Travis glanced at the screen. "The news?" he asked painfully. "Surely there's something better on." Travis hated watching the news. There was never anything happy being told, just more of the same corrupt politicians getting away with the same corrupt shit. He reached for the remote, because he _knew_ there was a 24-hour cartoon channel. Sure, it was mainly propaganda-riddled cartoons, but even that was better than the news.

A pale hand wrapped around his wrist, keeping him from grabbing the remote. Kate and Amy both tensed—Wes didn't look away from the screen.

Travis stared at the hand holding him. "There'd better be a damn good reason," he said flatly, because maybe Travis empathized with Wes a little more than he did originally, but Wes hadn't in any way earned the right to just _grab_ him.

"Not very observant, are we?" Wes asked. Before Travis could get loudly offended, the blonde nodded towards the screen. "Bottom left corner."

Travis looked. In the bottom left corner of the screen, there was a small yellow shield. As Travis watched, it blinked on and off—and it only took a second for him to realize it was blinking in a pattern.

Small. Insignificant. Unremarkable.

Unless you knew what it was.

"A message?" he asked, leaning forward. Kate and Amy perked up.

Wes gave a harsh chuckle and released Travis's wrist. "It looks like they know I'm missing. And they have a pretty good idea who did it."

Amy got up, left the room—presumably to get the captain.

"Let me guess." Travis sighed and ran his hand over his mouth. "It's nothing good."

Wes gave him a sardonic little smile. "Is it ever?"

**XXXX**

"It's definitely a message," Kendall said in the war room twenty minutes later. "The blinking is intermittent, long and short. Dashes and dots."

"Morse code," Sutton said.

"Exactly." Kendall shot him a finger gun. "And it's definitely a message for us. The first four sequences spell out L-A-P-D."

"And the rest of the message?" Travis asked.

Kendall shrugged. "Coded. And I'm no cryptologist. I could probably write a program that would decode it, but that could take days. Something tells me we don't have that much time."

"Why don't we ask our _guest_?" Amy said, sarcasm dripping thick on the last word. "I'm sure they taught you tons of different codes in your secret supersoldier program," she tossed at Wes.

Wes, in the corner of the room, barely flinched at the barb. He just smiled a feral grin and said, "They taught me all _sorts _of things. Would you like me to show you?"

"Alright, settle down." Cap stepped between them, hands out. "Amy back off and count to ten."

"Cap—"

"Twenty now. Go."

Scowling mulishly, Amy sank into a chair, arms crossed and body tense.

The captain turned to Wes. "_Do _you know what the message says?"

Wes's jaw clenched. Something passed over his face, too subtle to catch, except Travis knew the signs of a man warring with himself.

"I do," the blonde finally admitted reluctantly.

They waited.

"And?" Travis raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to share with the class?"

Again, a subtle emotion passed through those icy eyes too fast for Travis to catch. But some decision was made, because Wes sighed and looked at no one in particular.

"LAPD, we have your man," Wes recited robotically. "Come to the clearing five miles north of the facility at midnight. Bring 3499-W5 or your man dies."

The silence was so thick Travis could cut it with a knife.

Wes smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "I'll let you discuss it, shall I?" But the look in his eyes was bleak, resigned. Like he already knew what they'd choose.

No one stopped him as he slipped out the door.

**XXXX**

"We have to do it," Amy said eventually. "It's the only way to get Paekman back."

"Are you serious?" Jonelle rounded on her. "We can't just give him back! He's a person! We don't trade _people_!"

"Oh, please, he's not a person, he's a science experiment," Kate scoffed acridly.

"A science experiment who eats, breathes, thinks, feels, same as you and I. We send him back, who know what happens."

"I agree with Jonelle," Kendall fiddled with her laptop case. "I mean, I don't one hundred percent trust him. But I know what will happen if we send him back. The things he's _already_ been through…I can't in any good conscience agree to it."

Unbidden, the memory of what he'd read sprang to Travis's mind. Bones broken to see how fast they'd heal. 24-hour endurance runs to measure stamina. Exposure in extreme heat and cold to test resilience.

Tortures, by any other name, but justified in the name of _science_.

Travis couldn't possibly send Wes back to that.

But _Paekman_…

As one, the four women in the room turned to Sutton.

"So what are you going to do, Captain?" Kate asked.

Sutton sighed. "I think you all know what I'm going to say. But," and Travis got a bad feeling, "it's not my team. And Paekman isn't my teammate."

He looked at Travis, gave him a grave nod. "Your call, Travis."

_Gee, thanks, Cap_, he thought sourly as every eye turned to him. The weight of those stares pressed on him, saying _Chose, chose, right now_, and it should have been easy, picking between the man he'd known and worked with for years or the genetically-altered supersoldier created by the enemy but it _wasn't_, it wasn't easy an easy choice at all, how was he supposed to choose when either choice was horrible—?

"I need to think," he said, voice strained, backing out of the room.

He felt like he couldn't breathe until he was sitting in Randi's room, watching his wounded friend sleep, hand stroking through Hudson's fur.

"They're both awful choices, buddy," he confided in the dog. "What am I supposed to do?"

Hudson put his head on Travis's knee, stared up with liquid chocolate eyes, and didn't answer.

**XXXX**

"You're still here." Travis stared at the man on the bottom bunk. "It were me, I'd have been long gone by now."

Wes shrugged, flipping through the stack of photos in his hands. "Don't really have anywhere else to go."

"Point." Travis wandered into the room, hands fisting in his pockets.

Wes watched him through his lashes. "So what's the verdict?"

"I'm team leader, so they left it up to me to decide."

"Ah." Something shuttered closed in Wes's gaze. "And what did you decide?"

"I don't know, man." Travis flopped on the bed, ignoring the way Wes stiffened at the proximity. "Both options suck. A part of me is saying just do it, get rid of you and get Paekman back. But if I do, then how does that make me different from them?"

A thoughtful pause, and then Wes said, "That." Travis glanced over and found Wes staring at him, looking almost approving. When he noticed Travis watching, Wes inclined his head slightly. "That question, right there, makes you different. They wouldn't think to ask."

Something inside of Travis's chest relaxed, just a little.

Wes held out one of the pictures in his hand. "Is this your friend?"

Travis took it. Then he smiled. "Yeah, that's Paekman." He remembered this picture. It had been at the end of a successful raid. They'd been in and out, gotten what they'd come for, and lost no one. They'd both been grinning from ear to ear, and Paekman slung his arm around Travis's shoulder and snapped the picture.

"Where'd you get these?" he asked, passing the photo back.

Wes shuffled it into the stack. "Under some shirts in the bottom drawer of the dresser. I was snooping," he admitted as an afterthought.

Travis chuckled. "Paekman would like you." Despite their rocky first impression, Travis found himself kind of liking this soldier. Which just made this all the harder.

As if he could sense Travis's thoughts, Wes shuffled to another picture of Paekman. "He's your brother-in-arms. And I know what you'd do for your brothers."

That sounded… "You?"

Wes's smile was sad, his gaze far away. "I used to."

"What happened?"

Wes shrugged, going through the picture again, looking at the faces of people gone and people still here. "Some of them went on missions and failed to make it back. Some of them got sick—what they did to us, it's not always stable, and sometimes it falls apart. Some of them, they went crazy and had to be put down. And some of them were taken to the labs and…never came back." He sighed. "There used to be a hundred of us. Now, I'm the only one left. Everyone else is gone."

Travis groaned, dropping his head in his hands. "Knowing _that_, how am I supposed to pick? Don't give me all this tragic backstory crap. Why can't you be an evil asshole I'd be happy to get rid of?"

"They didn't program me to be that way," Wes said sarcastically, and _damn_ him for making Travis like him a little more.

"I can't decide," he sighed, sitting up.

"You can." Gone was any trace of vulnerability in Wes's countenance; back was the emotionless soldier that stepped out of the transport pod. He looked at Travis and, like he wasn't talking about his own freedom and well-being, said, "You know what you have to do. You have to make the trade."

**XXXX**

Five heads popped up when Travis walked into the war room, Wes on his heels like the deadliest shadow ever.

"What are we all standing around for?" he demanded, taking position at the head of the table, next to Captain Sutton. "We've got six hours until the meeting, we need to make a plan."

"And?" Amy asked. "What are we doing at the meeting?"

"Are we doing the trade?" Kate asked, blunt as ever.

Travis's gaze flicked over to Wes. The soldier was doing his still-as-a-statue routine, but Travis thought he saw a twitch in his jaw.

(He'd be annoyed too, if people kept talking about him like he wasn't even there.)

Wes looked over, have an infinitesimal nod that said, _Say what you want, I'll follow your lead on this one._

Travis took a breath and looked at the rest of his team. "We're not doing the trade."

"But—!" Kate's whole body seemed to spasm as she bit back her reply. The way her eyes skittered to Wes made it pretty clear why she held her tongue.

Travis, already knowing what she was going to say, shot her a glare. "We don't trade people, Kate. That would put us on their level, and even on our worst days we're better than them."

"Then how are we getting Paekman?" Amy asked.

Travis glanced at Sutton. The older man stepped back, letting him take the lead. _Your team, your mission_, his face said, an echo of the words he spoke earlier.

Travis leaned forward on his hands. "How are we getting him back? We go in and we _take_ him back."

**XXXX**

At Travis's urging, Kendall pulled up the blueprints of the facility and threw them up on the screen. The captain obligingly pulled out the paper copies of the plans and spread them on the table.

Wes stepped forward, scanning the plans. "These aren't that far off," he said, taking a marker from Travis. "There are security doors in these locations—" He marked the spots on the map; Kendall made adjustments on the digital version. "—and this wing had pretty much every wall taken out, but otherwise the physical layout is the same."

"What about alarms and cameras?" Amy questioned, leaning in. Even Kate came close, despite her obvious reservations about their temporary teammate.

Wes circled two sections of the map. "I was never allowed in these sections, so I don't know. But there are alarms here—" He marked the spots with little X's "—and cameras here." Those were marked with arrows to indicate the angle and direction of sight.

"As for guards." Wes swapped out the red pen for a blue one and began drawing lines. "There's a group of ten men who do a constant sweep in teams of two. There are also constant guards here and two snipers on the roof here and here." Accompanying marks were made. "The server room is here, and that's where you'll have to go to get the info you need." He outlined a room marked 'Electrical Relays', almost in the center of the complex.

Kendall looked at the highly edited map and swallowed. "Oh boy."

"Don't worry, you won't be going alone," Travis assured her. "Kate, Amy, you'll be going with Kendall. Your job is to get to the server room and get her back out."

"Alone?" the two women chorused dubiously.

"Of course not. I'll be calling Money as soon as we're done here. You'll have him and his men backing you up."

They only looked slightly mollified.

"And I assume you're going to the meeting?" Amy asked.

"Wes and I will go with Jonelle." Travis turned to Jonelle. "You'll be in the van. We don't know what shape Paekman is going to be in, so bring what you think you'll need."

"Got it," Jonelle nodded, already making a list.

"Wes and I will go in like we're making the trade. But as soon as we have Paekman, we'll bust our way out and head to the facility. If you guys still need help when we arrive, we'll provide backup."

There was a moment of silence as they processed. Then Kate let out a gust of breath and leaned back in her seat. "This is gonna be a cakewalk."

Wes, who either couldn't pick up on sarcasm or didn't care, snorted. "Not even close."

Kendall winced. "That sounds like more bad news," she murmured under her breath, looking at the colorful map on the wall.

Wes, of course, heard. "It is. You have to watch out for Crowl and his men too."

**XXXX**

"Don't tell me," Kate huffed after a moment. "Crowl is another one of you genetically engineered fr—projects."

If Wes caught the slip, he didn't let on. "Not exactly. They were a lot of problems with the genetics program. About ten years back, right after the Beijing incident, they decided to try something a little different, and a little less controversial. It's based more on gene therapy than genetic manipulation. The idea was to inject a serum into a fully grown adult and induce the changes they wanted that way."

"Did it work?" Jonelle leaned forward. "How did it work?" and Travis was struck by the memory that yes, Jonelle was in fact an accomplished scientist before she became blacklisted. Sometimes it was easy to forget that when he thought of her as the scary doctor lady in the basement.

Wes shrugged, a sinuous motion that reminded Travis of one of the big cats, all coiled deadly grace. "It worked for the most part. The subjects became better, faster, stronger. In some ways they surpassed me and my generation. But it wasn't permanent. They have to get constant injections of the serum or they lose their abilities and go into a very painful withdrawal. It keeps them loyal."

"And lemme guess, night like tonight, they're gonna be juiced up?" Amy questioned.

Wes pulled a _Ya think? _face.

"It's almost certain that Crowl will be at the meeting," Travis said, "since he's really the only one who could take Wes in a fight. We're going under the assumption that he'll bring at least a few of his men with him, but we'll send you in with as much backup as possible in case we're wrong."

"And what about you?" Amy questioned. "What if Crowl shows up with all his men and you're drastically outnumbered?"

"Well, I plan to take some pretty big guns, and Wes is a damn good fighter."

"I trained against guys like this," Wes added, "and against Crowl himself. If things go wrong, I can hold my own."

Kate and Amy exchanged a look, a silent exchange that said, _You may be able to hold your own but can we trust you with our men if things go wrong?_ But neither of them said a word.

Travis nodded, looking at his teammates. "Alright. You all got the plan? Good. Then go, do what you need to prepare. We'll head out at twenty-hundred."

**XXXX**

It wasn't really a surprise to find Wes back in his and Paekman's room once Travis was done with his calls. As he'd said earlier, where else would he go?

The blonde was sitting on the windowsill, half-hidden behind the curtain as he watched the street. His body language said _soldier on alert_ but his gaze was almost wistful, in a way.

Travis leaned against the wall on the opposite of the window, following the other male's gaze. It was nothing special outside, just a normal street in the poor part of town. There were people sitting on the sidewalk and a few kids, graffiti on the walls and bars on the windows.

Just a normal, everyday scene. But Travis tries to imagine it from Wes's perspective, through the eyes of a man who'd spent most of his life in a locked medical facility, and he just…couldn't. He couldn't imagine what this must have felt like, to be so close to freedom but farther than ever, not because it was taken away but because he'd never had it in the first place.

Travis couldn't help but wonder if Wes had ever had a day of freedom in his life, or if this was the first time he'd ever decided to fight back.

He didn't ask. Even if he did, he was pretty sure Wes wouldn't tell him. _You have my file_, he'd probably say, which, while true, was not what Travis would want to hear in answer to that question. There were some things that ought to be said out loud, not read from a dry medical record written by someone else.

Instead, he said, "Having second thoughts?"

Wes's brow furrowed slightly, and he glanced over. "No. Of course not. Why?"

"I don't know." Travis looked back out the window, watched a boy race across the street after a ball. "I would be, if I were you. I am, I guess."

"There's no need," Wes said, pushing away from the window. He stretched his arms above his head, as easy as can be. "It's a good plan. It'll turn out."

"That's not—" Travis bit his lip, ran his hand over his face. Finally he sighed, moving away from the wall. He started pacing the edge of the room, hands clasped behind his back. Wes settled on the edge of the bed, watching him. "I don't like lying to my team, okay?"

Wes's face didn't flicker. "You're the one who said it was necessary."

"I _know_." As much as Travis wanted to start yelling, he forced his voice to stay low. He didn't need Kate or Amy barging in right now, and he certainly didn't need any of them listening to find out what the fighting was about. "I know, it was my idea, but still…" He let out a gusty breath, running his hands through his hair again. "It sucks, alright? It just sucks."

"We could tell them," Wes offered, half-standing.

"Don't you _dare_." Travis pointed sharply at the blonde, who easily settled back on the bed. "I _know_, okay, I know we can't tell them. They'd never go for it."

"Even Kate and Amy?"

"Even Kate and Amy." Travis shrugged. "Eventually. We're the good guys, Wes, we don't _do_ this sort of thing."

"It's a good plan," Wes assured Travis once more. "And it's the only thing that's guaranteed to work."

"Yeah, I know." Travis resumed his pacing, scowling at the carpet beneath his feet. "I just don't like it."

Wes's head tilted, eyes narrowing as he scanned Travis up and down. It felt like being scanned by lazers, blue eyes sharp as ice. He suddenly recalled the trick Wes pulled earlier, seemingly knowing everything about Captain Sutton with just a few looks, and he could only wonder what Wes was seeing about him.

"Something else is bothering you," Wes observed, like that wasn't obvious. "What is it?"

Travis turned on his heel, pacing back towards the door. "I don't…it's not…I don't like it, okay? I don't like sending you back there."

One pale eyebrow rose. "You don't like me."

"That's got nothing to do with it!" Travis wanted to throw his hands in the air. Was Wes being deliberately obtuse? Did he really not get it? "I read your file, man. I know what they did to you. I don't want to send you back to that."

It was the wrong thing to say, though Travis didn't immediately understand why. Wes stiffened and glowered at him, eyes sharp as knives.

"I don't need your pity!"

"What? No, that's not—"

"I managed for my entire life, I can survive this," Wes continued, barreling right over Travis's words. "I'm not so weak I can't handle this."

"I'm not saying you're weak!" Travis snapped back, raising his voice to be heard. "I bet you _can_ handle anything they throw at you. I'm saying you shouldn't _have_ to! I'm not sorry _for_ you, I'm sorry about what they did to you, that you even had to experience it. This isn't pity, man, it's _sympathy_."

Wes's face went slack, and it almost looked like surprise. Travis softened his tone. "Haven't you ever had someone sympathize with you?"

The blonde's jaw tightened, shoulders tense. He looked away first. "Commiserate, yes. Sympathize, not so much."

Commiserate…right. Because there'd been others, before, others like Wes. And now there weren't.

Travis didn't know what else to say that wouldn't end up sounding very much like the pity he was trying to avoid, so he didn't say anything.

Wes took a few deep breaths, visibly forcing himself to relax. When the tension eased out of his shoulders, he looked at Travis. "It's a good plan. Just do your part and it'll all be fine."

Travis stared at him, frowning thoughtfully. "You know what the problem is?" He moved to the bunks, sitting on the bottom one. "I don't quite trust you. But you don't quite trust me either. We need to get to know one another."

Wes stared at him like he grew another head. "_Why?_"

"I told you, didn't it?" Travis shrugged. "I can't trust you if I don't know you. Same probably goes for you, amirite? And this isn't going to work if we can't trust each other, at least a little."

"You have my file," Wes pointed out.

"I don't want to know about the experiment, I want to know about _you_." Travis patted the bed encouragingly. "Tell me about Wes, not W-3599."

"3499-W5," Wes corrected with stunned amusement.

"Yeah, that too."

Lips quirked, Wes settled next to Travis. "I suppose there are worse things we could do for the next few hours."

"That's the spirit."

"So." Wes brought one leg up, turning to face Travis more fully. "What do you want to know?"

**XXXX**

The hours passed too quickly, and it seemed like no time at all before it was time to go. Travis stood in the garage, watching his team load up the vans. There was a hole where Randi and Paekman should have been, but Wes stood at his side and it didn't feel like they were missing so many people.

It was strange, and now wasn't the time to think about it, so he shoved it aside. Later. He could look at it later.

Vans loaded, everyone turned to him. Not Sutton, who came to see them off, but _him_. He was the leader of this mission, from start to finish, and he was acutely aware that if anything went wrong it would be on him.

Without quite meaning to, he looked over at Wes. Wes gave him a tiny nod, eyes saying _Remember what I said, it's a good plan, do what you have to. It'll be fine._

It gave Travis more confidence than it should, but there wasn't enough time to look at it too deeply.

He cleared his throat. "Alright, everyone know what they're supposed to do?" He got a chorus of nods from the assembled. "Good. Kate, Amy, Kendall, Money and his men will meet you there. Remember—don't move in 'till midnight. Too early and it'll throw everything off."

The three women nodded, Kendall looking nervous. To be fair, she usually stayed in the van monitoring them. But Travis knew his team; Kate and Amy would keep her safe.

"Jonelle, you're with me and Wes. We get in, get Paekman, get out. You have what you need?"

"Right here." Jonelle held up her bag. "Plus a few extra things in the van."

"Good, good." Travis let out a breath. "Then I think we're ready to move out." He turned to Sutton. "Captain?"

Sutton watched them with solemn eyes. "Stay safe," he said, "and try to come home in one piece."

One last benediction from the man who couldn't come with them. Travis swallowed hard, put his gun on his hip, and slung a rifle over his shoulder.

"Alright," he ordered, "let's move out."

**XXXX**

The ride was spent in silence, everyone's mind settling into mission mode. Jonelle drove, hands tense on the wheel. Wes crouched by the window, watching the trees whip by in the headlights with that statuesque blankness on his face. Travis kept checking his guns, making sure everything was in order.

The only time they talked was when they came up on the turn-off. The comms crackled and Kendall's voice came through.

"_Echo Van, this is Tango Van, do you copy?"_

Travis took a break, pressed his finger to the comm in his ear. "Copy you loud and clear, Tango."

"_We're approaching the turn-off. Radio silence after the turn?"_

Travis's heart clenched at the thought of being out of contact with his team, but it was necessary. For the plan to work, they couldn't talk to each other until Paekman was safe, and maybe even after that. There was no telling if Crowl or anyone else from the facility was listening in. "Affirmative, Tango," he replied.

"_Copy."_ Travis watched the other van turn with a heavy heart. Not that he thought they couldn't take care of themselves, but they were _his_ team. _He _was supposed to keep them safe, and this time he wasn't even going to be with them.

"Stay safe, Tango team," he ordered, but there was a bit of a plea in there too. _Please stay safe, guys._

"_You too, Echo team. Firewall, out."_

"T-Bone out."

Another brief crackle of static, and the silence. Wes didn't move, hardly even breathed. Jonelle tightened her hands on the steering wheel.

Travis checked his gun again and just breathed.

The van drove on.

**XXXX**

They arrived at the clearing just a few minutes shy of 11:30. Jonelle turned the car off but left the headlights on. With just the two beams of light illuminating the clearing, even the shadows looked menacing.

"Alright, so," Jonelle turned in her seat. "What exactly is the plan here?"

"Like I said." It was like a nervous tic, the way he checked his gun again. "We go in, we get Paekman, we get out."

"Yeah, because _that's_ so descriptive. _How _exactly are we going to do that?"

"Well, I was thinking—"

At his side, Wes stiffened, one hand going up for silence. He leaned forward, peering into the gloom, and Travis was reminded so much of a hunting dog pointing.

"What—?" Jonelle started to say, which was when three men stepped into the headlight beams.

Crowl—Travis assumed he was Crowl—was somehow exactly like Travis expected. Big, shaved head, tons of muscles, he looked like any stupid bruiser or thug in the world. But Travis looked at Wes and was reminded how deceiving looks could be. Crowl was dangerous, and Travis had to keep that in mind or this would all go very bad.

"They're early," Jonelle hissed frantically, "Why are they early?"

Wes turned, glaring accusingly at Travis, but before he could say a word, Travis jammed a syringe into his neck.

"What are you doing?" Jonelle shrieked as Wes slumped into Travis's arms, all attempts at subterfuge gone. "Travis, what are you _doing?!_"

"It's the only way to get Paekman back," Travis said grimly, maneuvering Wes onto the floor of the van. Mouth a tight line, he turned to grab a covered item he'd loaded last-minute—a wheelchair, as it turned out when he removed the tarp.

"Travis, you can't do this!" Jonelle struggled to climb over the seat divider, to get to the back to stop him. "We don't trade people. You said that! We won't sink to their level!"

"It's the _only way_," Travis snapped, glaring at her. "Do you get that? They weren't going to let us just fight them off and get away. They would _kill_ us if he didn't give them what they want. You saw what Wes could do on his own, you really want to go up against a _team_ of these guys?" He waved out the window at the three men, just standing in the light but somehow managing to convey all the power they had at their disposal. "If we give them what they want, there's a chance—however slim—they'll actually let us go."

"I won't let you do this." Jonelle finally made it to the backseat, kneeling over Wes's prone form. "You can't do this. I won't let you!"

Travis's eyes went sad. "I know." He came up behind her, and with all the care in the world inserted a second syringe into her neck. She stiffened, turning to glare at him, but then she was gone, slumping into his arms like a rag doll. He pressed his lips against the side of her head. "That's why I didn't tell you the plan."

He looked out the window at the three men still waiting. Then he looked down at the floor of the van, at the two people lying there, unconscious because of him. One of his team, and…well. Wes wasn't really one of his team, was he?

Go in. Get Paekman. Get out. That was the plan.

Everything else was just incidental.

Travis took a deep breath, held it for a count of ten, and got to work.

**XXXX**

Travis could feel them watching him as he hauled the wheelchair into the grass. It took an extreme effort to act like it didn't bother him. He was all too cognizant of the fact that if they wanted to, they could get behind him, stab him in the back, and take what they wanted. Travis was going on the hope that they didn't have orders to kill him and they'd leave as soon as they got what they wanted.

Grunting as he hauled Wes out of the van—damn, this guy was a lot heavier than he looked—Travis glanced over at Crowl's team again. They still hadn't moved, not even an inch. It was creepy as hell. If they were trying to raise the intimidation factor, they were doing a damn good job.

He zip-tied Wes's wrists to the arms of the wheelchair, then checked to make sure everything was secure. He took a long breath, then another one. _It's fine. It'll go fine. We have a plan._ Rising, he moved behind the chair and started pushing it through the grass. _Get in. Get Paekman. Get out. We'll be fine._

Stopping maybe ten feel from the juiced-up trio, Travis put on a deliberately nonchalant stance. No big deal. Just trading hostages in the middle of the night, it's all good.

Crowl nodded his chin at Wes. "He put up a fight?" he asked, indicating either the zip-ties or the sedatives or both.

Travis shrugged. "No. Just wanted to make sure it stayed that way." Crowl gave another small nod, like he approved, and it turned Travis's stomach. He tightened his grip on the handles of the wheelchair. "Can we get on with this? I've got places to be, people to see."

Crowl and his men didn't move. "Why'd you want us to come early?" he asked, sounding casually suspicious. There was nothing about the other man's voice or stance that said he was preparing for a fight, but something in Travis's brain screamed, _Caution! Danger!_

Travis scoffed. "Because I wanted to get rid of him, that's why. A GE freak near my team? No way."

"And the woman?" Crowl jerked his head toward the van.

Travis didn't flinch, didn't let on how much it unsettled him that this guy knew Jonelle was in there. _Super-enhanced hearing, right. Probably heard her screaming. It's fine, we're fine. We have a plan._

Keeping his voice cool, he said, "She's our doctor. Brought her in case we needed her. I don't know what you've done to my guy." He shrugged, careless and easy. "Unfortunately, some of us have more of a bleeding heart than others. She didn't…approve, so I knocked her out. She won't bother us," he added as an afterthought, but it was a little desperate too, saying Jonelle was harmless so they didn't have to hurt her.

(He tried to keep the desperation from his voice as much as possible, because if they picked up how much she meant they could use that, but he wasn't sure how successful he was.)

Crowl nodded again, looking almost impressed, and Travis hated it, hated getting even an ounce of approval from this guy. But he bit the inside of his cheek and forced his face still.

In the chair, Wes made a sound, stirring slightly. Fast metabolism and a high tolerance for most drugs—great for your supersoldier assassin, not so great for this sort of trade-off.

"Look, can we get on with it?" Travis demanded, playing the part of the beleaguered terrorist they always portrayed him as. They were running out of time…

"What about him?" Crowl asked, pointing to Wes.

"What _about_ him?" Seriously? Travis needed to get this done or the whole plan would fall apart.

Crowl glared at Wes, the first real emotion on his face. "He wouldn't have come along willingly, and there's no way you drugged him all the way here. And you definitely didn't overpower him. So why's he here?"

"Oh my god, seriously?" The frustration was only partly feigned, because time was slipping by. He ran his hands through his hair. "Look, he wanted us to help him get away, papers, money, a way out of the country, the whole shebang. We wouldn't help him unless he helped us, so…"

Crowl snorted, kicked at the wheel of the chair. Wes groaned, head lolling. "I take it he didn't know about this part of the plan?"

"Of course, I told him I'd drug him and tie him up and he went right along with it. Don't be stupid. He had this grand idea that I'd get my guy and we'd all fight our way to freedom. I told him that was a great plan and got him here."

Crowl exchanged glances with his men. Some silent communication passed, and Crowl turned back to Travis. "Works for me. Bring him out."

A fourth man—the last of Crowl's team—stepped out of the shadows, hauling a staggering form alongside. Travis winced at the sight of Paekman in the lights—his whole face was a mess of bruises, one eye was nearly swollen shut, and he was stumbling along like he could barely support himself. But he was alive and on his feet and that's all that mattered.

Travis stepped away from the wheelchair to grab Paekman when Crowl's guy let him go, catching him before he hit the ground. Getting a better grip, Travis supported Paekman and turned to Crowl. "Are we good?"

Crowl grinned, a truly vicious expression aimed at Wes. Wes didn't seem to notice, blinking groggily at the binds on his wrists. "I think we're good. Another day, then."

"Right." Ignoring the way Paekman stiffened—and knowing it had nothing to do with his injuries—Travis turned them both and frog-marched to the van.

"What are you _doing?_" Paekman hissed, twisting to peer over his shoulder. "We can't just leave him. We don't trade people!"

"Get in the van, man," Travis growled, pulling open the door. Inside, Jonelle groggily sat up, eyes hardening when she saw Paekman's condition. She shot a truly lethal glare Travis's way and clumsily helped their comrade into the van.

Travis slammed the door shut and climbed behind the wheel without looking back. He had a plan, and if he looked back his resolve would crumble.

There were some hisses and groans as Jonelle prodded Paekman, but she finally pronounced him mostly alright. "A billion bruises and a few cracked ribs, but surprisingly intact considering."

"Oh, yeah, I was lucky," Paekman said with a grimace. "Unlike that poor bastard you traded me for. They were _excited_ to get their hands on him. Travis, how could you?"

Travis gritted his teeth and checked the clock, stepping on the gas. "I had to. It was the only way."

"No, it wasn't," Jonelle said, voice as cold and sharp as a scalpel. "We could have come up with something else. _Anything_ else."

Paekman leaned forward, face tight with pained determination. "We have to go back for him."

With a quick jerk of the wheel, Travis turned the van onto the turn-off Kensdall's van took earlier. He glanced at the clock again as he told them, "Going back for him was always part of the plan."

**XXXX**

"_You know what you have to do. You have to make the trade."_

_Travis recoiled like Wes hit him. "No! Absolutely not! We don't trade people!"_

"_They'll kill him, do you understand?" Wes leaned forward, eyes intent. "If you're even one minute late, they'll kill him. They don't care."_

"_No. No!" Travis paced, running his hands through his hair. "There has to be another way."_

"_There isn't."_

"_There's always another way!" Travis sank to the bed, head in his hands as he wracked his brain. "What if we pretended to do the trade, and when we got Paekman, we fought our way out?"_

"_Crowl would kill you and everyone you brought with you."_

_Travis's head came up. "Who the hell is Crowl?"_

"_He's like me." Wes frowned. "Sort of. He's part of a team of four, and they'll definitely be the ones there for the swap. You saw what I could do. Now imagine four of me. They'd kill you before you even took five steps."_

"_But we'd have you," Travis said weakly._

_Wes's face didn't change. "I've fought these guys. In singular combat I've bested them, but I've never beaten the entire team. Not once. You wouldn't stand a chance."_

_Travis dropped his head back into his hands with a groan._

_The bed shifted as Wes did, and his voice was almost kind when he spoke. "You have to do the trade, fully and completely. And then you have to walk away. Once they have what they want, they'll most likely let you go. It's the only chance you've got."_

_Travis lifted his head, eyes bleak. "We don't trade people," he repeated. They just didn't, they were the good guys. Terrorists traded people, and no matter what the media said they weren't terrorists._

_Wes, instead of seeing the turmoil and empathizing, rolled his eyes. "If it bothers your conscience that much, come get me after. But the trade is the only way."_

"_We'd have to go in earlier for the trade," Travis pointed out. "We're doing the raid at midnight so that some of the facility's forces are away from base, but if this Crowl guy starts heading back and sees the place is on fire, he'll disappear with you in tow."_

"_I have a phone number," Wes said with a nod. "We can set it up."_

_Travis ran his hand over his face again and sighed. "My team won't like this. We don't trade people, not even for our own."_

"_Even Kate and Amy?" Wes asked, lips quirking sardonically. "They seemed pretty gung-ho downstairs."_

"_They're good people," Travis snapped, glaring at him. "They're scared and upset right now, and they don't know what to make of you. If they had a chance to calm down and think it through, they'd never agree to it."_

_Wes's face said he didn't quite buy it, but he just said, "Alright, then don't tell them."_

_Travis stared at him. "I have to tell them. They're my team."_

"_If you tell them, they'll try to stop you, the trade will fail, and your man will die. If you want this to work, you can't tell them."_

_With a groan, Travis scrubbed his face with his palms. "You know what I hate almost as much as losing one of my team? Lying to my team."_

"_It's necessary."_

"_I know that, dammit." Travis glared at Wes for lack of a better target. "You've convinced me your way is the only thing we have time for, and the only thing that will work. I still hate it."_

_Wes said nothing. After a moment, Travis turned to him with a sigh._

"_Alright. Let's figure out exactly how this is going to go. And then we'll figure out what I'm going to tell my team."_

**XXXX**

"I wish you'd told me," Jonelle snapped, wrapping Paekman's ribs. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never would have let us do it," Travis retorted, shrugging into a bulletproof vest.

"Of course not!" Jonelle pulled the bandages a bit too tight, and Paekman hissed. "A million things could have gone wrong. It was completely idiotic!"

"And that's why I didn't tell you."

The van shook as an explosion lit the sky. Travis's eyes went to the clock. Midnight exactly.

At this time, Travis knew as another explosion shook the ground, Money and his men were storming the facility. C4 was taking holes out of the fence, and Money's guys were setting more around the building as they went.

Somewhere in there, Kate and Amy were leading Kendall to the server room, protected by a contingent of Money's men, so she could find everything they needed to take these guys down for good.

And somewhere in there was Wes, captured and probably restrained, possibly drugged, and the only hope he had of getting out was Travis's promise.

Travis slammed a magazine into his weapon, staring grimly at the burning sky.

He wasn't about to break his word now.

"There." Jonelle sat back on her haunches, eyeing the wrapping around Paekman's chest. "It's not a long-term solution, but it'll do for now. Get you mobile, at least."

"Good." Wincing only a little, Paekman pulled his shirt back on. "And with those pills you gave me, I won't even notice how much it hurts until I crash."

"You don't have to come, you know," Travis offered, grabbing a few grenades because why not? "You can stay here with Jonelle."

"You kidding?" Paekman strapped a gun to each hip and picked up a shotgun. "He gave himself up for me, I'm not going to leave him there." He pumped the shotgun with a grin. "Besides, I'd love to pay those guys back for the warm welcome they gave me."

Travis grinned back at his friend. There was nothing remotely amusing about this situation, but with the adrenaline pumping and the thrill of the mission running through him, he was riding high.

"Don't you dare get shot," Jonelle ordered with a worried glower. "I want the right to shoot you myself."

Travis blew her a kiss as he climbed out of the van. "See you in a jiffy, babe!"

With Paekman on his heels, Travis bounded towards the facility.

**XXXX**

"_When they take me," Wes said, "they'll either put me in my cell here, or they'll take me to a medical room and strap me down."_

"_Well, at least they're not too far from each other," Travis said, leaning over the map._

"_Yes, it's lovely." Wes scowled at the blueprints. "Having medical in the next wing. It sure is convenient. For them."_

_Travis wisely didn't say anything, peering at the lines in front of him. "Okay, so what's the fastest way in?"_

_Wes pointed. "You'll want to come in from the east…"_

**XXXX**

It was chaos. A cacophony of gunfire and explosions, bodies running and bodies still on the ground. Travis ducked and weaved, shooting when engaged, moving slower than he normally would because Paekman was mobile but he'd still taken a beating.

It was a lot more hectic than their usual missions. They normally went after vans or conveys, or they did sneak missions for information and tried to get out without attracting attention. They didn't normally go up against huge, fully-staffed and heavily armed facilities.

But if this went right, oh, it could be a win for them.

"So tell me about your new friend," Paekman called, shooting a guard in the shoulder. The guard went down and didn't get back up.

"Not much to tell," Travis hollered, shooting two guns at two men. One of them went down; the other didn't. "His name's Wes. His favorite color is blue. Not very social." He shot at the guard again, and missed. "Oh yeah, and he's a genetically altered supersoldier."

There was the briefest pause in the gunfire beside him. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Oh great, now the guard had brought some friends to join the party. Travis grabbed a grenade from his belt, pulled the pin, and tossed it right into the thick of the converging guards. "Down!" he shouted, grabbing Paekman and hauling him behind a convenient wall.

After the ringing in his ears died down, he glanced at his friend. "That's not a problem, is it?"

Paekman loaded another round into his shotgun. "Travis, I don't care if this guy's a purple alien. He gave himself up for me. That makes him okay in my book."

**XXXX**

"_You'll have to be careful once you get to this junction." Wes circled a T-shaped crossroad on the map with his finger. "The left fork will lead you towards medical and the cells where they keep…well, me. But the right turn leads directly to a guard station. Reinforcements will come pouring out of there."_

"_Why can't we just bust through the wall in the barracks? Why take all these turns through the facility?"_

_Wes gave him a look like he was the dumbest thing on the earth. "The barracks and the medical wing are where we spent the most time. They're heavily reinforced so we couldn't get out. Which means you're not getting in either."_

_Travis rubbed the back of his neck. "Right."_

_Wes gave him the stinkeye for another second. "Right. Anyway, at the end of this corridor there will be a security door. You'll have to get a keycard from a guard, but the password is—"_

**XXXX**

_1-4-7-9-6-6._

The light turned green, and the lock disengaged. Paekman kicked the door open, and Travis rolled through, gun at the ready. A guard came around the corner, and then he fell.

"So Wes," Paekman said conversationally, covering their rear. "You like him?"

"I've known him for like eight hours," Travis reminded him. He ducked down another left-hand turn, peering into doorways as he went. Exam tables and white tiles met his eyes: the medical wing.

"Still enough time to make an impression," Paekman chirped, shooting at someone behind them. "So what's your impression?"

Travis huffed a sigh. "Can we do this later?"

"I kind of want to do this now," Paekman grinned at him. "I mean, look at how far you're going for this guy. Color me intrigued."

Travis rolled his eyes. "Fine. I guess he's alright."

"Alright?" Another big grin got aimed Travis's way. "Going to a lot of trouble for someone you think of as 'alright'."

Travis scowled and shot two men coming around the corner. "Shut up."

**XXXX**

"_What if we don't come?" Travis hastily corrected himself at Wes's expression. "I mean, what if something happens and for some reason we can't get to you?"_

"_Then I'll get out on my own," Wes replied shortly. "Give me a pocketknife and a bobby pin and I'll rescue myself."_

"_What are you, MacGyver?"_

"_Who?"_

"_Nevermind. Pocketknife and bobby pin, gotcha." Travis made a mental note. "Anything else?"_

"_Some explosives would be nice," Wes said dryly, "but that's a bit harder to hide during a hostage exchange."_

"_Don't worry about that." Travis smirked. "I'll bring the explosives with me."_

**XXXX**

The medical wing was nearly deserted, everyone rushing outside to deal with the attackers, and aside from a few errant guards, Travis and Paekman moved pretty much uncontested. The constant explosions outside were a good sign, Travis thought. It meant there were still his people out there fighting. It was when the silence fell that dread crept in, and you counted the dead and the wounded.

Shaking that thought away—it would only distract him, and he couldn't afford to be distracted right now—Travis peered around another corner. Then he ducked back.

"This is it."

Paekman took his own peek, seeing what Travis saw: two of Crowl's men stood outside a door. If they were here instead of out there fighting, then there could only be one thing they were guarding.

Paekman ducked back, looking grim. "If these guys are as good as you say, how are we supposed to get past them?"

Travis pulled two grenades off his belt. "I promised Wes I'd bring the explosives with me."

"Well." Paekman took one of the grenades with a smirk. "We wouldn't want to break a promise."

"Exactly."

On the count of three, they tossed the grenades down the hall and ducked for cover. The explosions rocked the entire corridor, but it did the job. The two men were dead or unconscious—either option was plausible and Travis wasn't about to check—and the wall by the door was reduced to rubble. The door itself, to Travis's mild amusement, was still hanging crookedly from one hinge.

Travis and Paekman raced up, peering around the ruined wall.

"The skinny one's Wes?" Paekman asked, gesturing absently with his shotgun.

"Yup."

Paekman's eyebrows went up. "You sure he needs us? He seems to be holding his own."

It certainly looked that way. Wes had Travis's pocketknife in one hand and a scalpel in the other, squaring off against Crowl. Neither of them seemed much affected by the blast, circling warily before launching into a blur of action.

It was like watching a tiger (Crowl, big, dangerous, ruthless) and a cheetah (Wes, he had the speed) facing off; beautiful, power and grace, but they'd rip him apart if he got between them.

Another blur of motion and action zipped by, and a part of Travis wished he was recording this, so he could slow it down and watch the replay, because he knew he was only getting every third move or so.

Wes was definitely holding his own.

"Still," Travis said, pulling the rifle on his back around front. "I bet he wouldn't mind some help. Keep an eye for the last member of Crowl's team."

"Gotcha." He felt Paekman settle into position, head turning as he scanned both the corridor and the ruined medical room.

Travis braced the rifle, sighting down the barrel. If he could just get Crowl in a moment when he was still…

Crowl tensed, putting his weight on his back leg for another rush at Wes, and Travis pulled the trigger. The larger man's knee went out in a burst of blood and bone, his cry of pain swallowed by another explosion.

Wes, seeing his opponent was down, dropped slowly out of his fighting stance, breathing harshly. He looked over at Travis and Paekman, eyes hard, and Travis gave him a crooked smile.

"Told you I'd bring the explosives."

Wes looked around, eyeing the ruined wall. "Effective," he rasped. His eyes went to Paekman. "You're David."

"Call me Paekman, everyone does." Paekman kept an eye on the hallway even as he flashed Wes a bright smile. "And you're Wes. Travis has told me all sorts of things about you."

Wes's sharp gaze turned on Travis, and he could only shrug in a _What can ya do?_ gesture.

At Wes's feet, Crowl groaned, pushing himself up onto his arms. He lifted his head, and if looks could kill Wes would be a smoldering pile of ashes on the floor.

"You won't get away," he spat. Wes stepped back. "You'll never get away. They'll hunt you down, and then they'll take you apart!"

Wes didn't even flinch, continuing to back up. Not in fear, but with purpose. Mouth a tight line, he retrieved the wheelchair from the corner, bringing it around to the middle of the room. He stopped it just outside of Crowl's reach, locking the wheels.

Crowl glared at him, at the chair. "What's that supposed to do, scare me?"

Wes grinned, cold as ice and feral as the wolf inside him. "There's enough C4 in this chair to bring the ceiling down," he said conversationally, like he was discussing the weather. "When I detonate it, you'll have thirty seconds to get away. I'm not like you, Crowl. I'm giving you a chance."

With a gesture from Travis, Paekman started backing down the hall. He needed the head start, with his injured ribs. Travis stayed; he wanted to see how this turned out.

"What chance?" Crowl snarled. "You shot out my knee!"

"I've given you a whole thirty seconds," Wes said, his expression never wavering. "Think of it like survival training. You were always good at that."

"You'll never be safe. You hear me? I'll tear you apart when I find you!"

"You'd better get moving." Wes pressed the button on the detonator, backing away. Without taking his eyes off the figure on the floor, the blonde yanked the dog tags off his neck. They landed with a dull clank in front of Crowl.

"See you in Hell, Crowl."

He didn't wait to see if Crowl said anything else, just turned, grabbed Travis's arm, and hauled ass.

Aided by supersoldier speed, they quickly caught up with Paekman. Wes grabbed his arm too and pulled them around a corner.

In a room three corridors away, the explosives packed inside the wheelchair detonated. A wall of fire filled the room before the ceiling came down and crushed most of the flames to death.

Travis felt the shockwaves rattle his bones. He'd been counting in his head and it felt like they were running for an eternity, but he guessed they weren't as far away as it felt.

After the dust settled, there was only a pressure in his ears and the muffled sounds of fire from outside.

Travis lifted his head, blinking concrete dust out of his eyes. Paekman and Wes were doing the same, looking as dazed as he felt—Wes a little less so, stupid healing factor.

Shaking his head, Travis slowly climbed to wobbly feet. He hadn't let go of his weapon in the blast, and he gripped it now, like it could offer stability and reassurance. Taking a breath (that he choked on because there was dust everywhere in the air, that was a _ton_ of C4), he looked at the two men beside him.

"Let's get out of here."

**XXXX**

The fighting outside was still going, but dying down. Travis saw many of Money's men making strategic retreats with very little pursuit. That was a good sign.

They met up briefly with Kendall's team on the way out. Kate's eyes widened upon seeing both Wes and Paekman, and Amy gave them a _What are you doing?_ look.

"You got it?" he shouted at them.

Kendall held up her bag with a grimly triumphant look on her face. Travis nodded.

"Then we'll meet up at base. Stay safe, and don't bring any strays home."

Kaye and Amy gave sharp nods of assent and veered off. Travis led the way to their van, Wes supporting Paekman now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off.

Jonelle was waiting in the open door of the vehicle, face pinched and lined. It all slid away when she saw them coming, and she even offered Wes a small relieved smile as he helped Paekman into the van.

Travis climbed behind the wheel, tossed his guns onto the passenger seat. He'd spend an hour or two circling around, making sure they weren't being followed, but after the mess they made at the facility, he highly doubted there would be any pursuit.

Jonelle, bending over Paekman and inspecting his injuries, asked, "How did it go?"

Travis caught Wes's eye in the mirror. The soldier wasn't smiling, but there was a proud, fierce gleam in his eye.

Travis sighed, feeling the exhaustion creeping in. His voice, though, was triumphant when he spoke.

"I think we won."

**XXXX**

After sleeping for what felt like days, but was probably about thirty-six hours, Travis sat in Kendall's computer room/office, Sutton in the chair next to him.

"What did you find out?" Sutton asked the hacker, leaning forward.

Kendall swiveled in her chair. "Everything. These guys at the facility were paranoid as hell. They kept copies of _everything, _emails and correspondences. I have recordings of phone conversations here. Plus there are all the medical records of every single soldier they every created, I've already given those to Jonelle, she's starry-eyed about it. I mean, there is _everything_. If we want it, we've got it." She snickered. "They shouldn't have kept it all on one server, is all I'm saying."

"What about names?" Travis leaned forward, unconsciously mimicking Sutton's pose. "Do you have names of the officials who sanctioned this? The money and resources had to come from somewhere."

A slow, insidious grin crossed her face. "Do I have names, he asks." She turned her chair to her computer, typed a few keys. "There's no consolidated list, but here's what I've made up from the names I've found so far. There are dozens of them, and most of them are pretty powerful."

She looked over her shoulder at the two men. "We have enough here to take down some very powerful men, and we have the proof to do it. Half the California government and a handful of people in the capitol would be ruined if this got out."

Travis rubbed his hands together, sharing a look with Sutton. After a minute, the older man nodded, and Travis nodded back.

"Kendall, use the names you've got and start making one of your cable hacks." He stood, mouth a tight, determined line. "I think it's time for a regime change."

**XXXX**

It took less than a day before Kendall said it was ready. Standing in her office, Travis stared at his team. With one press of a button, they would send everything they'd found across the air. Some very powerful people were about to be in a lot of trouble.

"If we do this," he said, looking at each person in turn, "We'll become public enemy number one. Hell will reign down on our heads. It's going to be a war. We haven't faced anything like this before."

"Anyone," Sutton said softly, "who wants to walk away now can. No one will blame you."

Travis looked at them, at his team. Kendall, at her computers. Jonelle and Kate and Amy standing there with identically crossed arms. Paekman and Randi, sitting in chairs, looking worn but on the mend. And Wes, standing by the door, watching it all with a blank face and glittering eyes.

No one moved an inch.

"I wouldn't say it's a war," Paekman said finally. "More like…a revolution."

"Things could use some shaking up," Amy quipped, sharing a look with Kate.

Randi and Jonelle just nodded.

"Alright." Travis turned, put one hand on the back of Kendall's chair and leaned in. "Let's light the fires."

Kendall pressed the button.

**XXXX**

All across the country, stretching from the Pacific to the Atlantic, TV screens went blank; static blared. Then a new picture popped up, a golden shield on a black background, and a woman's voice spoke.

"_This is a streaming freedom video, brought to you by the LAPD. This cable hack will last for exactly sixty seconds, and cannot be traced. This message is airing through the entire country, so everyone can see the truth. Open your eyes._

"_Senator Janet Roberts. Congresswoman Laura Lefeber. Congressman Richard Murphy. Mayor Randall Greene. All names you know. To the public the come across as upright, virtuous folks._

"_But what you don't know is that for the past twenty years, they and many more have been secretly embezzling funds and misdirecting government resources to facilitate a program creating genetically-altered supersoldiers and assassins._

"_These men and women must be held accountable for their actions against the people. We will not idly sit by and continue to let you lie and control us. It's time for a change, and change is coming."_

**XXXX**

Cities erupt. Soon, entire states, and then the country will follow.

That's how it starts.

**XXXX**

The bus depot was full of people bustling to and fro, coming and going and staying. There were a handful of vagrants, people who'd ended up here and had nowhere else to go, wearing the same dull-eyed expressions as the depot workers. Everyone else had their heads down, not looking or seeing, just getting from Point A to Point B as fast as they could.

Wes, in borrowed blue jeans and his jacket zipped to his chin, surveyed the throng with his perpetual blankness, but there was a flicker in his eyes that on anyone else might be considered nervousness, or even fear.

"Well," Travis said, reaching into his pocket. "Here's your end of the deal." He held out two envelopes, one a little thicker than the other. "New IDs, papers, etc. And here's some credits to get you started."

Wes peeked into the slimmer envelope first. Travis shoved his hands in his pockets. "It's not much, but we did what we could. Our…job isn't exactly a lucrative business, you know."

"I suppose not," the blonde said, lips quirking. He tucked the envelope into his jacket and opened the other one, pulling out a passport.

"It's good enough to get you out of the country," Travis said, rocking on his heels. "You've got the passport, driver's license, I think they stole some dead bastard's Social Security number. There's work history, previous residences, a whole family chart. Character references. Basically anything and everything you could possibly need."

"Hmm." Wes frowned at the passport photo. "This doesn't really look like me."

"Body double," Travis said cheerfully. "Close enough that it'll pass muster. Just say you dropped thirty pounds." He shrugged. "Your actual picture could raise flags."

"Uh-huh." He was still frowning. "Warren Mitchell?"

"Well, we couldn't put your name down, not with people searching for you and everything."

"No, no, that makes sense. Just…" Wes's faced twisted a little. "_Warren?_"

"Hey, it means 'guard', it's a pretty damn good name," Travis defended, and not (just) because he helped to pick it out.

Wes continued to pull a face, but he slid the passport back into the envelope and tucked it away. "Thank you," he said solemnly. "For all of this."

Travis waved it aside. "It's not a problem."

"It would be, for some people."

"Yeah, well, we're not some people."

Wes eyed him appraisingly, almost respectfully. "No, you're not."

The loudspeakers blared before Travis could get anything out, which was probably good because he wasn't really sure what he was about to say but it probably would have been more emotional than he liked to get. Instead, he nodded his head toward a bus idling not too far away. "That one's yours. It'll take you up to Seattle. From there we have a contact who'll help get you over the border. Here's your ticket."

Wes nodded, taking the ticket and nearly crumpling it in his fist. He hauled the duffel bag at his feet, full of borrowed clothing and toiletries, onto his shoulder, staring at the bus with a frown still tugging the corners of his mouth down.

Travis shifted. "Something wrong?"

Wes blinked, snapping out of his daze. "No, I…" He smiled ruefully. "It's just…for as long as I can remember, I've been a soldier. I don't…quite know how to be a normal person, I don't think."

He shrugged, shaking his head. "Never mind. I'll figure it out. Adapt and survive. It's what I was made for." Spine straight, determined, he started towards the bus.

"You know…"

Wes halted, glancing over his shoulder. Travis put on a casual face, rocking on his heels again.

"I know this little group, started something big. They could probably use all the soldiers they can get."

Wes turned back, taking one step towards him. "Really now." Travis nodded, and Wes took another step. "Could be dangerous, having me around."

Travis sucked his teeth, feigning nonchalance even though his heart was pounding. "I don't know. No more danger than what we've gotten ourselves into." He smirked. "Just think about it. Your muscle, Paekman's brains, and my good looks. We'd be a hell of a team."

One more step brought Wes flush with Travis. "I think you may be overestimating your contribution to this team."

And really, Travis could only laugh at that. _I do like you_, he thought but didn't say, because they'd only known each other for a few days and that wasn't really enough time to say things like _I appreciate your snarky personality in these dark times_.

Instead, he looked into those sharp blue eyes and offered, "It'll be dangerous, and you'll probably die, but you could join us. If you wanted."

Wes dropped the duffel with a gusty sigh. "I thought you'd never ask."

**XXXX**

**Interlude—before the big rescue**

Wes woke slowly, the second round of sedatives Crowl gave him hitting harder than the stuff Travis dosed him with. Familiar fluorescent lights blinked down at him, and it only took a moment's assessment to realize he was strapped to an exam table.

His heart pattered nervously, the way it always did in the medical rooms, but he breathed deeply and took stock. Tied down, but his limbs still responded, if a bit sluggishly. He'd had worse.

"Looks like your escape failed," Crowl's voice sounded to his left. The brutish man stepped forward, a sneer on his face. "Again."

Wes twisted his wrists. It looked like he was testing the restraints, but he was actually working his fingers into the cuff of his sleeve.

"I don't think you can actually blame me for this one," Wes said reasonably. His fingers caught on the pocket knife taped to his inner wrist. Idiot Crowl, so overconfident he didn't bother to check Wes when he came in. "Seeing as how I was unconscious in a transport pod at the time."

"True." Crowl shrugged with a scoff. "But be honest. Did you actually think they would help _you?_ You really thought that ragtag group of homegrown terrorists would help _you_, an inhuman murderer grown in a lab?"

"They're freedom fighters," Wes corrected, carefully sliding the knife into his palm.

The blow rocked his head to the side. He had to scramble to keep from dropping the knife.

"So much for helping you," Crowl sneered. "They gave you up quickly enough."

"All part of the plan, Johnny boy," Wes chirped confidently, sliding the blade free. With a twist, he had the edge up against the leather, and started cutting.

"The plan?" Crowl actually laughed at that. "You fool. They have what they wanted. They're long-gone by now."

"They're coming back," Wes retorted, sawing at the leather straps.

"Wes, Wes, Wes." Crowl shook his head mockingly, clucking his tongue. "You always hope people will help you, and it always falls through. Remember Anthony? Remember what happened there?" Wes kept his face neutral, didn't let the sting in his heart show on his face. Crowl sighed. "Your trust will be your downfall."

The first explosion coincided with the restraint falling away, cut through. While Crowl was momentarily distracted, Wes sat up and cut the other wrist free.

"Actually," he said, slicing through the straps on his ankles. He hopped off the table and grabbed a nearby scalpel. "I do trust them. Well, one of them. Sort of. It's a process." He shrugged, dropping into a crouch with a blade in each hand. "And that's going to be _your _downfall."

He grinned as Crowl dropped into a fighting stance. "I told you they would come back."

**XXXX**

**Epilogue: Revolution**

Once, back when he first joined, his mentor Dan Noone took him up to the roof. They sat on the edge with their feet dangling over, looking out at the glittering miasma of people below, and Dan pulled a leather pouch out from under his shirt.

"Did you know the LAPD used to be an actual organization?" Dan asked, running his thumb over the pouch.

"Yeah?" Travis asked, glancing over. "What kind of organization?"

"A good one," Dan said. "An important one." He opened the pouch, slid a golden shield into his palm. "Do you know what LAPD stands for?"

"No," Travis said, because he didn't. It was just a string of letters used to represent their group, that was all.

Dan smiled a little, cradling the shield in his palms like he would his own child. "Los Angeles Police Department."

Travis recoiled, and Dan shook his head. "No, no, not like that. They weren't the militarized police we have now. They were government workers, but they were for the people." He smiled, thumb running over the shield again. "You know what their motto was? _Protect and serve._" He looked over at Travis. "It's a good motto, isn't it?"

Travis stared at the shield, fingers itching. Seeing it, Dan held it out, and Travis took if carefully. It was heavy in his hands, heavier than he'd expected, like years of significance and responsibility were weighing it down.

"That was my grandfather's shield," Dan said, staring out at the city. "He was there when the government took over, shut down the original LAPD and put their own soldiers into place. And right up to the day he died, he did what he could to protect the people around him, even from the military."

"What happened?" Travis asked, running his fingers over the smooth gold emblem. "Why did everything change?"

Dan sighed, and when he spoke, he sounded weary, like it was an answer he'd given a thousand times, but it wasn't a _good _answer. "The world went to hell, kid. People do stupid things when they're scared. When governments get scared, they take over, because they think if they can control something, then they don't have to be afraid anymore."

"But they're wrong," Travis protested, sitting up. He puffed his chest out. "They should be afraid of us!"

His mentor smiled, a sad, heartbroken sort of thing. "That's right. They should be afraid of us. Of the people who won't stop fighting. Because one day, they're going to fall down. And when they do, everything will change again."

"For the better, right?" Travis asked, eyes bright with purpose. "We're going to change everything for the better."

"Who knows." Dan held out his hand; reverently, Travis placed the shield back into the older man's palm. Dan cupped it, stared down at the gleaming shine. "That's what we're fighting for. An ideal, and a memory. Of when the government protected the people, instead of taking from them." He sighed, slowly tucking the shield back into its pouch. "It won't happen in my lifetime. Maybe not even in yours. But as long as there's still one person fighting back, hope isn't lost. One person can change everything."

He looked at Travis, eyes sharp and intent. "Remember that, Travis. One person can change everything, so don't you ever stop fighting."

And he remembered. Every day, he remembered, and it was what kept him going. Even when they lost people, or things went wrong, or they had to move their base of operations yet again, because the minute they stopped fighting, everything would end.

And now, six years after the rooftop conversation and nearly three years after Dan's death, Travis held that pouch in his hands.

One person could change everything.

"_We're going to change everything for the better."_

Smiling to himself, Travis tucked the pouch into his pocket, turning to leave the room. Wes was just cresting the stairs, and Travis jerked his head. "Hey Wes, come with me. I got something I want to show you."

Bemused, Wes followed. Travis didn't say anything until they were sitting on the roof, legs dangling over the edge, staring out at the glittering lights of the city around them.

With Wes watching curiously, Travis pulled the pouch out of his pocket, tipping the golden shield into his palm. He held it out to catch the streetlights, remembering a rooftop conversation so long ago, and he smiled.

"Do you know why we're called the LAPD?"

**XXXX**

When the elevator dinged open, Alex hurried towards her car. She knew better than to stay out working so close to curfew, but the job never ended.

She was reaching to unlock the door when she heard a clatter behind her, like someone kicked a bottle. Exhaling, she turned her keys, the teeth sticking up through her fingers; her other hand went for the pepper spray in her purse. It wouldn't stop an attacker, but it might slow him down enough for her to get away.

She turned around slowly.

There was no one there.

She waited a long minute, peering into the gloom, but nothing moved. Keeping her hands on her impromptu weapons, she turned back to her car.

Only to scream, jumping so badly the keys flew out of her hands.

The blonde man on the other side of her car had the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry."

"How? ...you…" She hadn't heard him at all. The parking garage echoed like nothing else, how did she miss him? "Who are you?"

"Alex MacFarland?"

She tensed. "What do you want?"

"Have you heard about the supersoldier scandal?" he asked, which wasn't really an answer at all.

Alex continued to watch him, but he didn't move, staring at her politely quizzically. Even though she didn't know him, even though he'd snuck up on her in the middle of an empty garage, she found herself easing a smidge. Something in the eyes, she thought.

"Of course I have." She wasn't stupid—she kept her hand on the pepper spray in her purse. But her gaze flicked to the ground to look for her keys. "It's all that's been on the news for days."

"And what do you think of it?" he asked, carefully neutral.

She sighed. "I think that certain people have a lot to answer for. Embezzlement, misappropriations of resources…not to mention the legal and ethical ramifications of creating superpowered assassins."

"Soldiers," the blonde muttered under his breath.

Alex's head came up. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Anyway," she continued, "people are outraged. Some of them are upset that the government lied, and someone of them are afraid because what happened in Beijing still scares them."

"And you?" he asked. "What do you think?"

She sighed again, spotting her keys halfway under the next car. Well, she wasn't about to get them now, not with this guy standing here. He hadn't made a move toward her, but that didn't mean she _trusted_ him.

"What do I think?" She looked up, met his eyes. "I think some very powerful people need to be held accountable for what they did. But aside from accusations, there's no proof. They covered their tracks well."

Something slapped down on the hood. Alex stared at the blank manila folder, thick with papers. "What's this?"

"Proof."

She stared at the folder. Started at him. Stared back at the folder. "No way."

One raised eyebrow invited her to look. Frowning, she pulled it open, scanning the contents. Her disbelief grew as she flipped through the pages. It was all here—money trails, emails, pictures. Everything she'd need to take down some very powerful people.

Her hand was shaking as she closed the folder. "How did you get this?"

His lips quirked, ever so briefly. "I have a friend who's good at digging up this sort of thing."

She stared at the folder in her hands as if it was a bomb. "Why me?"

"Because you're honest." Her head snapped up; his eyes were intent and sincere. "You're one of the last honest lawyers in the city. And you're not afraid to fight."

Alex had to duck her head to hide her flush. She'd been complimented by men, but there was something about his frank assessment, about the look in his eyes like he'd never believed a truer thing…

She shook her head. _Not the time._

Alex took a breath, gesturing with the folder. "This is…amazing, and I'm…flattered you brought it to me, I really am, but… Look, I don't want to die. And they _will_ kill me if they find out I have this."

Again that steady, intense stare, burning like blue fire. "We'll protect you."

"We?"

"My friends." He shrugged. "You may have seen them. On TV."

It only took her a second to realize who he must be talking about. Her eyes went to his shoulder, but there was only black cloth. No golden shield.

"Your…friends. They'd protect me." He nodded. "Why?"

"We have a vested interest in seeing this happen." He shifted, smiled. "We're the good guys, Miss MacFarland. You and I and my friends, we all want the same thing."

Somehow, despite everything she'd ever learned about the LAPD, she believed him.

Alex looked at the folder in her hands and took a long breath. "Okay. I'll do it." She looked up. "What's your—"

But he was already gone.

**XXXX**

Crowl's eyes snapped open, and he sat up before he could think of it. His body screamed at him, burnt skin cracking and oozing. He was doing well, the constant injections of a certain blue serum insured that. Now he looked like a bad car accident victim instead of someone who'd barely crawled out of an explosion. Still hurt like a bitch, though.

"You've disappointed me, John Crowl," a voice said, floating in from the shadows. A newspaper page turned, the sound that woke him up.

Crowl swallowed, ignoring the nervous skitter that crawled down his spine at his boss's voice. "I didn't know that group of terrorists would show up like that—" Excuses, and he knew it.

His boss knew it too. "You failed me." Another page turned.

Crowl swallowed again. "It won't happen again."

The newspaper was folded, and his boss leaned forward, eyes as dead and heartless as a corpse. "No. It won't." Standing, his boss tossed the newspaper onto his lap. "Heal quickly. We'll need you soon."

The door clicked shut, but Crowl stared at the front page, mouth a thin hard line. _Scandal Erupts! _the headline screamed, and right in the center of the page was a golden shield.

His eyes went to the nightstand, staring at a pair of dog tags, twisted and scarred beyond recognition. Crowl's hand clenched into a fist, mimicking the way he'd clutched the tags when he'd dragged himself out of the flames. He still had the imprint burned into his palm, though that would heal with the rest of his injuries.

He smiled, a skeletal grimace of anticipation.

"See you in Hell, Wes."

**XXXX**

"I hate this place," Jonelle scowled, stomping up the basement stairs. "There's absolutely no place to set up an infirmary. You know what's downstairs? _Mold_. Mold is real great in a sterile environment."

"It's not that bad," Kate protested, but she would, since she was the one that found this place.

"Sure," Amy agreed dubiously, eyeing the peeling wallpaper. "It's…nice."

"No, you know what was nice?" Jonelle pointed accusingly. "Our last place. Our last place was really nice. If I'd known this plan would have burned our last place, maybe I wouldn't have said yes."

"Oh, it's not so bad," Kendall chirped, hauling a box of computer parts. She started up the stairs. "You just have to get used to it!"

"You would say that, wouldn't you?" Jonelle called after her. "You can take everything you need in a few boxes. I can't exactly pack a tile floor with a drain in my suitcase!"

Smiling, Randi leaned against the wall. Her arm was still in a sling, and Hudson curled protectively at her feet. "You know," she chuckled, "as much fun as this is, I can't wait to get back in the field."

Mike Sutton smiled, watching Jonelle stomp further into the house. "It's lively, at least."

"Still." She made a face that said, _Lively isn't all it's cracked up to be, boss._ Turning to him, she changed subjects. "When are the boys supposed to be back?"

"In a few hours." With a grunt, he pushed himself off the wall. "So let's see if we can't get this place set up before then."

**XXXX**

"_Bogart, are you in position?_"

Paekman, crouched in a cluster of bushed, pressed his finger to the comm in his ear. "I am in position, T-Bone, and ready to go."

"_Copy. Werewolf, you in position?_"

A long-suffering sigh gusted through the comms, and Wes, sounding utterly fed up, said, "_Werewolf? Really?_"

Paekman tried to fight down a smile. Travis had said before the mission started that he'd come up with the _perfect_ codename for Wes, and he'd know it when he heard it.

"_It's a great codename,_" Travis defended. "_It fits so well!_"

"_I'm starting to doubt your ability to choose names,_" Wes retorted.

Paekman ducked as a guard passed, thought the guard was thirty feet away behind an electrified fence. "Guys," he interrupted, "this is great fun, but maybe we could save it for when we get home?"

Another tired sigh. "_Fine. I'm in position and ready._"

"_Good._" And now Travis was all business. "_Werewolf, you go as soon as the next guard passes. Bogart, be ready to move as soon as you see the signal._"

"Copy."

"_Copy._"

Paekman waited, settling into a crouch, ready to spring up and move as soon as he saw the signal.

It was another twenty minutes before he saw the light in the guard shack flick on-off, on-off. He was already moving before the signal stopped, and he knew Travis was doing the same on the other side of the building. And Wes would be loping around the perimeter, quietly incapacitating the guards as he went.

Despite being in full mission-mode, Paekman grinned to himself as he scaled the now-deactivated fence.

Travis was right. They did make a good team.

**XXXX**

"_Copy._"

"Copy," Wes affirmed, settling into stillness.

He waited on the balls of his feet and his fingertips, nothing moving but his eyes. He heard the guard before he saw him, heavy tread on grass and muttered grumbles in a mix of Spanish and English. He tensed, holding his breath, and as soon as the man was past he lunged out of the concealing brush, light on his feet and as loud as the breeze through the trees.

Two yards from the fence he leapt, launching himself into the air. Enhanced muscles propelled him up in an arch over the ten-foot fence, and though he had to twist at the last moment to keep his boot from brushing the electrified metal, he cleared the top and landed cleanly. _Minus ten points for execution,_ he scolded himself, darting after the clueless guard, _but plus five for sticking the landing._

The guard went down easily enough with an arm around his throat. Wes dragged him, still alive, to the shadows of the building, where he'd be found later.

It would have been more expedient to just kill the guard, but Travis and Sutton had made it very clear that he didn't have to kill anymore. He had a choice now.

Wes would never be able to thank them for that.

There was one guard still in the guard shack, but he went down without ever knowing what hit him. Wes watched the cameras for a few minutes, estimating the guard circulation and judging the best time to power down the fence and signal the others.

With a flick of his wrist, the fence powered down. He gave the signal, and on the cameras tiny versions of Travis and Paekman started scaling the fence. He waited an extra half second to make sure no one sounded the alarm, then left to subdue the rest of the patrolling guards.

Despite himself, he was smiling as he ran. This was the same sort of thing he'd done all his life, but this time he was doing it on his own, no orders. He was doing it for _himself_, and that made all the difference.

And what he chose to do was help his friends start a new order. One where people didn't have to fear their government and children weren't turned into soldiers.

_Let's light them up._

**OOOO**

**This is what happens when you watch too many episodes of Dark Angel at once and then read a prompt like mizu's. I couldn't help myself.**

**Title and quote taken from the song "Ready Aim Fire" by Imagine Dragons. This song, along with Imagine Dragon's "Radioactive" and "My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark" by Fall Out Boy, were pretty much the main anthems while writing this fic.**

**This story was edited and beta'd only by myself, so any mistakes are my own. I have a very love/hate relationship with this fic, and my opinion on how it turned out changes daily, so let me know what you thought! Comments, reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome!**

**Until next time~!**


End file.
